


Not Form but Function

by zoemargaret



Category: Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:23:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemargaret/pseuds/zoemargaret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fernando first hears of his daughter when his lawyer calls him during practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Form but Function

The first time Fernando hears about his daughter is when his lawyer calls him during the middle of practice.

The first time Fernando hears about his daughter is when his lawyer calls him during practice.

“Fernando,” Guerro says without preamble. “Did you ever have sex with a woman called Helene Arroyo Coyas?”

Fernando blinks and waves off his coach. “Why do you need to know?”

“Because you've been named in her will as her daughter's next of kin.” He's so matter-of-fact it takes several seconds for the words to sink in.

“W-what?”

“Does this mean that you don't know her?” Guerro's hopeful but Fernando has to disappoint him.

“No. We dated for a month or so about what, 2 years ago? Maybe 2 and a half?”

“Damn it.” Fernando blinks, it's the first time he's _ever_ heard his lawyer curse. “The girl in question is 18 months old.”

“But,” his stomach folds in sharp jerks and he's left stuttering. “B-but we were safe! I always use protection!”

“Be that as it may, she put your name on the birth certificate. Have you ever heard anything from her, anything at all?”

“No!” Fernando denies. “It was during the off-season and I was stuck in Madrid for promo stuff. It was just a thing, nothing important. She never-” He breaks off and shoves his hand in his mouth. “Oh fuck, she had a _kid_?”

“Yes.” Guerro makes a frustrated sound. “So, this is not a baseless accusation. I'm sorry Fernando, but you're probably going to have to take a paternity test.”

“Can't I just, I don't know, give her to Helene's parents?”

“There are certain...issues that need to be cleared up,” Guerro replies. “The first step is to get you back here to do a paternity test. If it turns out that you are the child's biological father we'll talk about the options.”

“OK,” Fernando says. “I'll um, I'll talk to my coach. I'll be there tomorrow.”

********

  
One rushed flight, one blood sample and three days later his lawyer calls him. “Congratulations,”

 

Guerro tells him dryly. “It's a girl.”

Silent panic grips Fernando; all he can do is gasp for air. Guerro seems to understand and continues talking. “Your daughter's name is Sofía Belen Verdasco Arroyo. She's eighteen months old. Her mother was the oldest of two girls, but her sister committed suicide about ten years ago. Her grandparents are already suing for custody.”

Fernando grasps at the straw. “Wait, they want her? Can't I give her to them?”

Guerro clears his throat and Fernando knows he’s not going to like what comes next. “ Ms. Arroyo Coyas made certain provisions in her will. She specifically stated that her daughter was to have no contact with her parents.”

“I didn't know you could do that,” Fernando says weakly. “I thought- Well, I never actually thought about it.”

“Not many people do,” the other man points out. “It's unorthodox to be certain, and to be honest, there is a chance their suit will be successful.” Guerro's disapproval is plain, but Fernando really doesn't care.

“What, so she had a fight with her parents and now I'm saddled with a kid I didn't know I had?”

“It's not just a fight, Fernando.” There's actually venom in his voice, and Fernando blinks. He didn't realize his lawyer could sound like that. “Ms. Arroyo Coyas made certain...accusations. Attached to the document were what appears to be her sister's suicide note and several pictures.”

“Fuck.” Fernando rests his forehead on the wall. He can guess but still makes himself ask, “What kind of accusations?”

“Sexual and physical abuse.” Guerro is obviously fighting to remain clinical. “Very detailed accounts, with documentation of various injuries and bruises. While there is no photographic evidence, she does have several questionable hospital records. Her sister's suicide note substantiates her claims, but there is no direct proof.” He sighs. “Fernando, I know I'm supposed to argue your interests, but I have two daughters. The things this girl detailed, the suicide note,” he breaks off. “As your lawyer I advise you to help the grandparents fight the provision and give them custody. However, if you do so I must inform you that I will have to refer you to one of my colleagues for further legal consultation.”

It takes Fernando a moment to figure that out. “It's that bad?”

“You need to see them and read the will before you make any decisions.”

“Fuck,” he mutters again. Most athletes just have to pay child support, not fucking raise the kid. He's been so careful that this wouldn't happen, that he wouldn't have children until he wanted them. His parents, his coach, his _lawyer_ have been lecturing him since he was 16 to be careful. He still can't believe it. This can't be true.

An hour later he's reading the will. Half an hour after that he's stumbling into the hall clutching his cell.

“Fernando?” Feli answers his cell with a sleepy yawn.

“Feliciano,” he fights to keep the hysteria out of his voice. “Fuck, she's mine. She's mine and I have to take her.”

“Fernando?” After some rustling and a girl complaining in a sleepy voice Feliciano comes back on the line. “So the baby’s yours, then. Let me get rid of Maria and we’ll talk.” Muffled words that Fernando can barely make out, then “OK, she’s gone. Tell me what’s going on.

*******

“OK Sofía,” Fernando says. It's the first time he's brought Sofía home without the social worker and he's not quite certain what to do. Judging by her expression, Sofía shares his uncertainty.

“Well,” he says. “I got you some toys. Actually,” he opens to door to the newly painted room, “I got you a lot of toys.” Well, he did, and his sisters, his parents, his uncle, his cousins, Feliciano, Ferru, Rafa... “You know what?” he says when his gaze lands on a cross-eyed stuffed unicorn, “why don't we go get you a snack.”

On the way to the kitchen, Sofía finally wriggles in a silent demand to be put down. About halfway to the coffee table she loses her balance. Fernando dives forward but miracle of miracles she doesn't cry, just drops to her hands and knees and crawls.

Once he's certain she's not going to cry, Fernando grabs a banana and goes to sit on the couch in front a curious Sofía. “OK, Sofía,” he says. “You hungry?” Sofía hesitantly nods, her dark eyes solemn. “Good.” He breaks off a piece of banana. “Your aunt Sara's kids love bananas, so let’s give it a try.”

They've made it about halfway through the banana when there's the muted slam of the front door. “Fernando?”

“Oh Jesus, thank you for small miracles,” Fernando breathes. “In here, Feli!”

Feliciano appears in the doorway with a bag full of fluffy things. “Sofía!” he says. “Nena, I've been waiting _weeks_ for this.” He crosses the room in three long strides and sinks to his knees in front of her. “I'm your favorite uncle Feliciano.”

“She knows that,” Fernando snaps, nerves making him harsh. “She's already met you five times, Feliciano.” Sofía doesn't take the last bit of banana and he considers flicking it at Feli. But he’s a father now and fathers don’t throw food in front of their daughters.  “And you're her only uncle, so it doesn't matter if you're her favorite or not.”

Feliciano glares at him. “It still counts,” he informs him. Sofía doesn't make a move toward him, but she also doesn't move away. Fernando's willing to call that a win. “So here you are, Ms. Sofía Arroyo Verdasco. Your father doesn't have the slightest clue what to do with you, does he?” He laughs and opens his bag. “Nena, you have given me a reason to finally start shopping in the baby section. Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?”

“Feli,” Fernando ignores the last statement, that's just Feliciano being Feliciano. “That's...true, but you shouldn't say it in front of her!”

“Why not?” Feliciano argues, making himself more comfortable. “One, she's too little to really understand me and two, well, you're not really being subtle, Fernando.” He nods at Sofía. “You could try actually holding her.”

Sharp shame stabs him and he turns away from both of them. “I did,” he mumbles. “But, I don't know.”  _I still don't really want her_ , he whispers inside his head. He's too ashamed to say the words out loud, but with Feli solemnly pointing out the tennis ball under the couch to Sofía, he's not certain who he's afraid of hearing them.

It's been on his mind ever since he first saw her, silent and scared in purple flowered pajamas, both hands clutching the social worker's neck for dear life. She was a little girl who'd just lost her mother but all he could think was that he was a father now, his entire life changing because this little girl existed. But, another part of him had registered her small hands and the confused look on her small face, the unhappy frown on what even he recognizes as his mouth. His body reached for her even while his mind was listing all the ways this was a bad idea.

“Fer,” Feli interrupts his thoughts, exasperation coloring the word. “Let me show you.” He stands up and stoops down to Sofía's level. “Can I give my nena a hug?” Sofía assesses him carefully, arms held purposefully behind her back. Feliciano bites down on a smile and lets her look. Only after a long and careful perusal does she hold out her arms to be picked up. “See? Not that scary.”

“I know how to _hold_ her, Feliciano,” Fernando snips. Sofía's poking at Feli's hair, looking like she really really wants to pull it; Fernando meanly hopes she will. “I'm not actually retarded.”

“Could have fooled m- Ouch!” Sofía gives into temptation. “Sofí!”

Fernando thinks about taking the high road and not sniggering, but really. Where's the fun in that?

*****

The first few days are rough. His parents are over nearly every day but he still finds himself calling his mother with questions like “She hasn't pooped all day. What do I do?” and “Should I put her in her crib for naptime?” However, in all due fairness to himself, this is not a one-sided arrangement.

“Fernando, did you remember to use the baby shampoo?”

“Yes mama,” he replies as he struggles to get Sofía dry and keep the phone to his ear. It's impossible with Sofía wiggling like she's making a run for it, so he turns on the speaker phone and sets the phone out of splashing range. There's the brief lag and then Sofía jerks at the disembodied, “-tion? Don't forget the lotion, Fernando!”

“Yes mama. I have it right here.”

So the first few days are difficult, even the first week. After that though things fall into an uneasy equilibrium. It's not so much actual planning on Fernando's part. It's more that he just shuts off the rest of his life for a little while. His mother comes over while he trains, but she leaves the second he comes back, citing “You need to get used to being a single parent, Fernando.”

So yeah. His family still doesn't really approve of his decision to take Sofía, but. Standing on the other side of the courtroom, Sofía's grandparents had looked evil, wrong. Somehow half a step displaced from the proceedings, jagged edges raw and clear to all to see. Fernando might be influenced by the photos and note, but he doesn't think so. Is certain that even without Helene's account of being locked in the closet and her sister's almost incoherent allusions of abuse too graphic to name he would still hate them, still do anything to deny them access to Sofia.

He loves her in the way you love any fragile creature dependent on you for survival, a biological response to soft skin and small hands. But she’s not his daughter. Not yet.

*****

“Shut the fuck up, Sofía!” Fernando slams his hand on the wall. While Sofía jumps at the loud noise, her screeching wail only get louder. He curses under his breath before saying, “I'm sorry baby. Please please please be quiet. I have a match tomorrow.” The high pitch of her screams is like a drill and he squeezes his temples in hopes of reducing the oncoming headache.

“I should have left you with your grandparents!” he shouts at her but she doesn't even pause. Gritting his teeth he picks her up again and walks into the living room, trying to ignore the blows from her flailing arms. He picks up the rapidly cooling bottle of milk his mother recommended, but Sofía shoves it away again. This has been going on for two hours now. The state psychologist had warned him to expect disruption and extreme behavior, but this. “You can't do this to me before a match,” he snaps at her. “You're not even really my kid, why the fuck am I doing this.” It's not a question.

He loses the match the next day. Only an exhibition, but his game was shot to hell and back; the season starts in less than two weeks. After he's finished signing autographs David Ferrer comes up to him. “What the fuck was that?” he asks, waving at the departing crowd. “I haven't seen you play like that in years.”

“Fuck off Ferrer,” Fernando snaps. He can't even muster up a smile for the cameras. He shoves his gear in his bag and doesn't bother to zip it before he walks off the court. He somehow stumbles through the following press session with familiar platitudes spilling off his tongue. But as soon as the mics are off he's out the door.

Just as he reaches his car he gets a text from Feliciano. _Ferru says you're pissed,_ it reads. _Whats wrong?_ God damn it. There are times when the Spanish Armada actually does live up to its perceived closeness. _Fuck off_ , he replies then turns his phone to silent.

Of course Feli doesn't listen. When Fernando gets to his house, Feliciano opens the door with Sofía in his arms. “Fernando,” he greets him with a quick kiss to each cheek. “Your mom went home. I've got Sofí, go take a shower.”

Fernando blinks, the post-match adrenaline trickling out of his system. “What?” he asks.

“Go take a shower, Fer,” Feli repeats. “I've got everything here.” He studies Fernando, cataloging his slumped shoulders and shadowed eyes. “It'll be OK,” he says in a more gentle voice. “Just go take a shower, you stink. I'll make something to eat.” Sofía whines and Fernando flinches, uncertain if he can take another screaming fit. But Feli just slips her to his other arm and, with some difficulty, wriggles his keys out from his pocket for her. “Here we go, Nena.” He looks down ruefully. “Sweetheart, I have to say that Uncle Feli is getting tired of painted on jeans.”

Even exhausted and irritated and fed up Fernando laughs at that. “But you look so good in them,” he says and smacks his ass on the way to the bathroom. “Just need to lose a little weight, Fidgiano.”

Five minutes later with the hot water beating down on him, he forces himself to relax and think of nothing but getting clean. It's the only reason he's gotten as far as he has; he'll be worried later about how difficult it is to keep his mind blank now.

“The thing about kids,” Feli says as he pulls Fernando out of the shower and pushes him against the sink, completely ignoring Fernando’s start of surprise “Is that despite what the social worker and your parents and Sara told you, they don't need to be in your line of sight every damn minute of the day.”

“Feli,” Fernando asks as Feli slides to his knees in front of him. “Fuck, what are you doing?”

“What,” Feliciano's lips curve in a self-satisfied smile, “do you think I'm doing?” He opens his mouth and swallows Fernando's still soft cock, tight throat working and Fernando can't help the stuttered groan that falls from his lips. Feliciano pries his hands from the counter and puts them on his head before going completely slack beneath his grip. Fernando takes the hint.

Not three minutes of fucking Feli's mouth and Fernando's coming. “Fuck baby,” the endearment slips out without his permission. He slides to the ground and wipes at a smear of come on Feli's chin. “That was...”

“Just what you needed,” Feliciano finishes firmly. He grips Fernando with a warm hand and kisses him with swollen lips. Fernando tastes his own salty slick come in the other's mouth and he groans. Pressed skin to skin like this he's grounded for the first time in what seems like weeks. It's always so easy between them and he finds himself abruptly near tears with relief.  “Feli,” he whispers, “I don't know if I can do this.”

Feliciano pulls back with serious blue eyes. “I know,” he replies matter-of-fact. “We'll talk about it later. Right now you need to take a nap.”

“What?” Fernando's still dazed from his orgasm and he allows Feliciano to pull him to his feet.

“Bed,” Feli tells him. “I've got Sofí.”

“She wouldn't shut up yesterday,” Fernando either explains or warns, too dazed by sex and lack of sleep to be sure which. “Fuck, she screamed for hours.”

“If she does it again I'll take her outside. Go to bed Fernando.”

Some time later Fernando blinks awake. “Feli?” he says groggily. He grabs his phone; he's been asleep for four hours. With a yawn he rolls out of bed and stumbles into the living room. Feliciano is sitting on the couch playing FIFA 09 with his feet on the dark brown coffee table. He throws a distracted smile at Fernando, not taking his eyes off the screen. He's playing as Real Madrid against Barcelona and just as Fernando opens his mouth he misses a penalty shot. “Oh come on, Lopez,” he smacks the back of Feli's head. “My sister could have made that shot.”

Feli mock scowls and shifts over so Fernando can sit down. “At least I'm winning,” he retorts without heat. “When was the last time you did that?”

Fernando pouts but then remembers that, shit, he has a _daughter_. “Where's Sofía?”

Feli bumps his shoulder against his and doesn't pull away; Fernando still hasn't figured out how Feli knows when he needs to be touched but somehow, whenever Fernando needs something other than sheer will to tether himself to his body Feliciano is there. “She's in her bedroom,” he replies. He sighs then sticks his face in Fernando's bare shoulder and bites with white sharp teeth.

“Ouch!” Fernando flinches, but it's more feigned than real pain. “What was that for?”

Feli kisses the bruised spot with lingering lips, his tongue a slow sweep over suddenly sensitive skin. Only once Fernando's skin is slick with spit Feli meets his eyes, lips red and wet. “Because I thought you needed an incentive.” Tousled and relaxed Feli with eyes bright blue in his tan face and Fernando just _wants_ him. If he's honest with himself, he always wants Feliciano, has wanted him before he really knew what he wanted him _for_. He'd thought it hero worship, more the desire to be the other man that anything else. Even the first time they slept together he'd seen Feli as a mentor more than anything else. But then he began surging up the rankings as Feli stalled. He'd tried to talk to Rafa about this once. 

 _“How did it feel?” he asks one morning as they both took a break from the burning Madrid sun. Feliciano, Carlos and Francisco are playing football with a spare tennis ball; Francisco and Carlos make a surprisingly good team._

 _“How did what feel?” Rafa asks absently as he roots around in his bag. “Dammit, I left my tape somewhere.”Fernando passes his own before Rafa’s finished talking. “Thanks. Sorry, what were you saying?”_

 _“The first time you realized you were better than Carlos.”_

 _“It's not that I'm better than Carlos,” Rafa says with words that are obviously long rehearsed. “We just never played together at-”_

 _“Rafa,” Fernando says. “Don't bullshit me. How did it feel?”_

 _Rafa’s quiet for a long moment but Fernando ehad expected that and so he’s content to wait for the answer.   “It felt like my world had ended, I guess.” He gives a frustrated sigh. “I, I don't know. I mean, he was like, my idol for so long, you know?”_

 _“You still have Federer.”_

 _Rafa laughs, almost bitter. “Yes,” he agrees. “I still have Roger. But,” and he turns away so Fernando can’t see his face, “I don't think you ever forget the first time someone you love starts to hate you.”_

 _“No,” Everything’s suddenly different and it can’t ever be the same and god, it hurts like a missed shot, a lost match. Like he’s losing a part of himself. “No, I don't think you do.”_

“Fernando,” Feli's voice brings him back to the present. “It's OK to be upset.” For one stuttered moment he thinks Feli's reading his mind and he's terrified; the memory is too intimate and dangerous and it's one he's never wants Feli to even guess at. Because against all reason or odds their friendship has (in general) only grown stronger over the years. It’s not something he wants to risk.

But Feli’s talking about Sofía. “I mean, three weeks ago you were planning on spending the break on the beach and training in Vegas. Getting laid, shopping. And,” he mock scolds, “don't even pretend that you weren't looking forward to hitting up Dolce and Gabbana. And now,” he shrugs, easy smile slipping away. “Now this.”

Fernando's suddenly filled with the sudden urge to kiss him, whether to derail this conversation or rid himself of the lingering traces from the memory of his conversation with Rafa. Maybe if he can get Feli turned on he won't have to talk about this. But Feli pushes him back when he tries to kiss him. “No,” he says firmly. “You always do this, Fernando.” His voice rises with frustration and for the first time Fernando really looks at the other man. Underneath his usual surface beauty, Feli looks tired. His mouth is tight with tension, and there are lines around his eyes that are too deep to be from the sun.

Through this whole mess: Guerro’s first phone call, meeting Sofía, going to court. Feli's the only reason he's even made it to this point. Feli's the one who bought the crib, the baby seat, and the parenting books. He was in the courtroom while Helene's parents sued for custody. The only reason Fernando was able to sit through their deposition was because Feliciano had one hand on his knee the entire time. But there's no way he can say that in words and so he has to settle for a pained “Feliciano.”

The other man remains silent and Fernando's stomach gets tighter with every second. Just when Fernando's about to beg Feliciano gives a pained sigh. “Oh Fer,” he says with a pained huff. “God, sometimes I wish...” he trails off, the silence even louder this time. But after only a few moments he shakes himself. “Never mind that,” he waves his hand, and the tension between them shifts and lessens as some essential part of Feliciano is tucked away and Fernando knows that he's just lost something huge and incomprehensible. He opens his mouth to somehow call that emotion back but Feliciano interrupts him. “You need to sort out how you feel about Sofía before you make any decisions.”

  

  1. “I was going to go to Miami,” he whines. “Damn, I still have Marta Montenegro's number.”
  



Feliciano stays silent but Fernando can feel his disapproval’ only Feliciano could make his feelings understood without resorting to words or facial expressions. He grinds his palms in his eyes till he can feel them move under the lids, but it still hurts less than saying what Feli wants to hear.  “I always thought I'd have kids,” he says as a prelude. “I just, after, you know? I mean, tennis...” He stops. The only reason he's saying this now is because Feli, damn him, is sitting there waiting. Feli knows that he wishes Rafa's knees would finally give out, knows that he told his first girlfriend he loved her just so she'd fuck him, knows that he loves his family but sometimes he just wants them to back the fuck off. If there's one person on earth he can say this to it's him. “I don't know if I can give it up,” he confesses. “I've spent my entire _life_ ,” he stops. “And I don't know. There's this little girl and apparently she's mine and I think I love her, but I don't...”

“Fer,” Feli says. “It's OK.” He shifts to a more comfortable position but he keeps his arm around Fernando's waist. Because he wants to or because of the death grip Fernando has on his wrist Fernando doesn't know and he doesn't really care as long as Feli stays with him. “It doesn't make you a horrible person, it's natural. Hell, parents who want children still feel this way.” All the strange tension from earlier is gone and Feli's just Feli, the man Fernando's known for half his life, calm and supportive.

It gives Fernando the courage to say what he's been thinking for the past week. “I think I could just give her to her grandparents right now,” he mutters, the words biting at his throat. “I mean, I don’t know her, she… Maybe they wouldn't be so bad.” The words sound hollow even to him.

Feliciano's stiff and still beside him for a long moment. “Do you really believe that?” he finally asks. “I mean, really?” he pulls away and Fernando flinches at the sudden cold air against his side, even more so from the way Feliciano is looking at him. He's always been open to Fernando, every wince and twitch and smile seen and understood. But the way Feliciano is looking at him now... he doesn't want to know what the other man is thinking.

“I don't know,” he answers in nearly whisper. “Perhaps? It would easy. So much easier, Feli. When I first got her I thought I could do this. And now,” he stops, looking for the words. No, that's a lie. He knows what he needs to say, he's just too scared to give the thought voice. “I hate myself for thinking it, but I just don't know if I can do this. If I should do this.” He has a child now, a daughter, and he needs to decide what to do but all he can think about is his first coach telling him, 'You always screw yourself over, Fernando.' “Wouldn't she be better with someone who actually knew how to raise children?”

“Then give her to your parents.” Feli'd gone to court with him. He'd met Sofía's grandparents. He'd read Sofía's mother's letter. He'd held the suicide note enclosed with the will. And now he's looking at Fernando like he's something unrecognizable. “They know how to raise children who didn't kill themselves.” Feli's unexpectedly vicious, but he already loves Sofía without reservation.

Of course, Fernando thinks sourly, she's not actually _his_. “Guerro says I'd have to give them full custody or Helene's parents could still sue.” His parents would do it without a second thought and it would solve his problems, but... “And even if I do, just the fact that she'd be in Madrid without me would give them grounds for continuing to fight.”

Both lapse into an uncomfortable silence, staring at the television where a little Sergio Ramos is frozen mid tackle on Messi. Fernando's knee suddenly twinges. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Feliciano, I didn't sleep at all last night. I mean, it was only an exhibition, but...I mean, there's no way I can take her on the tour.”

Feli slumps back into the couch, obviously uncomfortable with what he's about to say. “She's your daughter, Fer. Doesn't matter if you meant to or not, she's yours.” He visibly weighs his next words. “I don't know if it helps, but I think it was a genuine mistake. Helene never contacted you for child support, right?” Fernando shakes his head, and Feli continues, idly fingering the white buttons of the Wii remote. “So you can't say it was all Helene's idea and get out of it that way.” “Wha-” Feliciano cuts off his heated denial. “I know, you would never, blah blah blah, but you were thinking it Fernando. And it won't work.”

He's right on both counts. If Helene had planned Sofía he wouldn't worry about abandoning her to Helene's parents because she wouldn't have been his fault. Yes, it's horrible and he feels sick at even thinking it, but tennis doesn't allow for self-delusion, at least not if you want to be the best. And Fernando wants to be the best, has always wanted to be the best.

“I want to play tennis.” Feliciano lets out a deep breath Fernando didn't realize he was holding. This is what they've been dancing around, this is what neither of them have said out loud. “I want to win. And,” his voice cracks, “I don't want to be a father.” Instead of relief at finally admitting the words, the knot in his chest only clenches tighter. He can't do both. He can't do both and suddenly he's bent over, fingers clenched in the cushions gulping for air. He can't do both but he _has_ to but he can't he can't he can't. “I love her but I don't want to be a father.” He doesn't realize he's crying until Feliciano wraps him in a hug, comforting hand on the back of his neck.

Something gives way at that touch, and he just breaks down. He cries until his face aches, until his eyes swell, until his hands tremble with the force of it. He cries until he's dizzy, until his sinuses swell shut, until he can't see can't hear can't think.

After far too long Fernando registers the rasping sobs as coming from his throat. Desperate and blind, he gropes until he finds Feli. His leg or his hip he can't tell, just clutches and waits for the tears to stop.

“Well,” Feli presses his cheek against Fernando's head as he sums up the situation. “There are two things you can do. You keep her or you give her to her grandparents.” He threads his fingers through the hair on the back of Fernando's head and gently tugs. “But you're the one who has to make that decision, sweetheart.”

“I wish I didn't.” He's in that strange oversensitive post-crying place where even his fingertips are tender. “I don't want to.” He winces at the whine in his voice, but Feliciano doesn’t pull back or leave him.

“I know.” Feliciano tugs him onto his lap and kisses him without regard for the tears and snot dripping down Fernando's face. “I'm here whatever you decide.” They both know there's really only once decision he can make but for now at least, Feliciano’s willing to let him pretend he has a choice.

Guerro does something that Fernando suspects is borderline shady and Sofía's grandparents drop the custody suit in exchange for seeing Sofía at Christmas and Easter. Fernando insists on supervising the visits. His lawyer just raises his eyebrows and says that he never gave them the option to refuse.

By the time the paperwork is completed, Feliciano’s prediction has come through. While Fernando still has no idea how to handle Sofía and the tour, he knows that he wants her there. He wants her with him, whether it be through sheer possessiveness or newly formed paternal instincts, it doesn’t matter. He’s taking her with him. And so, newly signed custody paperwork in hand, Fernando starts to figure out how the hell to take a 19 month year old on tour.

“You can't take care of her by yourself,” his mother tells him decisively. She, his father, his sisters, Juan and Feliciano are sitting in the Verdasco's kitchen. Sofía's playing in the front with her cousins. Fernando checks on her every ten minutes or so, but only at his mother's meaningful glances that get sharper each time. He wants to complain that he's not used to looking after a child, after a daughter, and this isn't his fault. After about the fifth glare he's about to say something but his father chooses that moment to meet his eyes with an unspoken command: _Shut up_.

“No, he can't,” Feliciano agrees. He has to be aware of the quiet battle between Fernando and his mother; everyone at the table probably knows. “I can travel with them for at least part of the tour.”

“Feliciano,” Olga says. “With all due respect, you're not going to be enough. And sweetheart, we can't let you harm your career. Can we, Fernando?” It's that chiding tone every child, even adult, is familiar with: you know what the right answer is and you better give it.

“You think I haven't told him that, Mama?” His parents love Feli like a son, which might explain their obliviousness to some of his less attractive traits. “ _You_ make him listen.”

Feliciano sighs theatrically. “Look, I'm a grown man, I can make my own decisions. It's not like I'm dropping out of any of the tournaments. Nando and I are playing a lot of the same cities, so Francisco and I will just room with Nando and the baby.”

Sara and Olga share a look and burst into laughter. “Oh Feli,” Sara gasps, reaching out to pat his hand, “honey, there's no way that's going to work. Children need way, way more time that what even the _two_ of you can provide.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Feli shoots back. “You know, we are-”

“Feliciano,” Juan cuts him off. “She’s right. There's no way you can take her on tour by yourself, Fernando. You both know that.”

“I told you,” Feliciano tightly, “he won't be alone.” The words settle somewhere deep in the pit of Fernando's stomach and he struggles to control himself, praying that everyone is too focused on Feli to pay him any attention.

Jose sighs and settles back in his chair. “Boys,” he says. “This is very admirable. But the fact is, you need someone on tour who can take care of her full time. Feli,” he stops the other man before he even opens his mouth, “I know you think you can. But son, you play tennis too. And with what happened to your leg this year,” Feliciano goes rigid and every single person around the table glares at Jose, who has the sense to look embarrassed. “Never mind. Neither of you are giving up your careers; it's not good for you and it's not good for the baby.”

Feliciano doesn't look convinced But Fernando knows his father’s right. Fernando can't take Sofía on tour by himself, even if Feli is there most of the time. The only way for that to work would be for them to trade off tournaments. Fernando's not letting Feli do that for him, no matter how much the other man protests he can handle it. “Feliciano,” he sighs. “They're right.” He's careful to avoid saying anything about Feliciano's leg. Feli's old injury has flared up again, and it's not responding as well to treatment as it once did. The fact that it's true would only make anything he said worse. “We can't do it that way.”

 “Well, your cousin Pilar just graduated. She doesn't have a job yet, and her mother says she's already got baby fever.”

“Mama,” Sara rolls her eyes. “Really? Pilar? As in, the girl who can't tie her shoe without breaking something Pilar?”

“Sara, stop exaggerating, she's older a-”

“She broke her arm falling down the stairs. Last year.”

Feliciano sniffs. “OK, so Pilar's out. Who else?”

Sofia looks up from where she's playing with her cousin's train set. When his mother sees the dirty hem of Sofia's white skirt Fernando's going to get lectured. But she's looking up at him for reassurance, eyes anxiously searching him out for reassurance and when she sees him her entire body lights up. Sitting here in his home arguing with his family as he watches her... She is his. His daughter, his Sofi, _his_.  A fierce and almost painful joy surges up and yes. This is his family and he is keeping her.  

*****

Somehow they figure it out. Feliciano convinces Ana to fly back from Rome to travel with them for a few months. Miracle of miracles, Juan turns out to be smitten with her, and he and Ana manage to take care of her while Fernando practices or plays. Fernando keeps his 7 ranking and inches up on 6. They don't even try taking her to Australia, Ana and Sofí flying to Miami while Fernando competes and joins them as quickly as possible.

The second he walks in the hotel Ana's shoving his daughter into his arms. “She missed you,” is all Ana says before picking up her purse. “You're keeping her for the next twenty-four hours.” He juggles his racket bag and Sofía for one awkward moment before sorting it out. It's the first time he's seen her a week and it's only once he has her in his arms again that he realizes how much he missed her.

“Where are-” he starts to ask but she irritably cuts him off.

“I am renting a hotel room. I'll be back Wednesday morning.”

“But what am I supposed to do with her while I practice?”

She whirls, dark shadowed eyes wild. “I. Don't. Care.” She runs a hand through her already bedraggled hair and frowns. “This week has been f-” she pauses, “ _very, very_ awful. I need a break.”

“Oh,” Fernando says. He takes a firmer hold on Sofía and looks at her dark eyes. “It's been that bad?” As if in reply, Sofía's face crumbles into a screeching wail. Fernando winces and instinctively looks at his sister, but she's already pulling on a light denim jacket.

“Her crib's in your room over there. The diapers and changing pad are next to the bed, and her bottles and formula are over there. Her clothes are in your dresser, and there's soap and toys in your bathtub. Do you know how hard it is to find a room with an actual bathtub, Fer?” She already looks happier, lighter.

“I can never thank you enough for this, can I?” he asks as he jiggles Sofía.

“Nope.” She leans over and kisses Sofía's wrinkled red face. “Auntie Ana will be back tomorrow, Sofí. Love you.” And she's out the door, leaving Fernando alone with his daughter for the first time in nearly two weeks.

First thing, get her to stop crying. “Sofía,” he croons, “I know, I know.” He walks through the suite, looking for a pacifier. “Daddy missed you too. I missed you so much.” His voice abruptly catches and he suddenly wishes he could scream like Sofí. What the fuck was he thinking, bringing his daughter on the circuit?

“It's OK baby, I'm here, I'm here.” He finally finds her pacifier, but when he tries to pop it in her mouth she turns away and slaps it to the ground.

“No, no, come on baby,” he pleads but she keeps wailing, the sound already unbearable after five minutes. “It's ok, it's ok.” Jiggling her in the vague hope it'll calm her, he searches for her blanket. He spots a flash of pink on the couch. “Thank you, Jesus,” he mutters as he pulls the blanket from under the cushion. “Here, Sofí. Here's your blanket, baby. Here you go.”

For one blessed moment she falls silent. Fernando gives a heavy sigh of relief and sags against the wall. Maybe he'll be able to actually get some-

Sofía draws a familiar pathetic breath. “Oh Sofí, no,” Fernando pleads, but to no avail. She starts screaming and not even five minutes in, he realizes exactly how hard this is going to be. 

******

“Fee!” Sofía's wriggled away running before he realizes it. “Fee!”

“Sofía!” Feliciano picks her up and swings her around, both of them giggling like crazy. He’s only a couple days behind Fernando with flights and a quick visit to a physio.  “I missed you, nena.” He manages to hug her for about 10 seconds and then she's squirming to get down, reaching for his racket bag. But when he tries to move away she grabs his shorts and tugs demandingly, small brown face tilted up in a demanding pout. “Oh, you want me to show you, huh?” He obligingly crouches down and helps her grab the zipper. She yanks it down with a gleeful shout.

“You better watch your hair gel, Feliciano.”

Feliciano's eyes are startlingly blue against his tanned skin, and Fernando wants nothing more than to kiss that wide smile. “Don’t worry, the good stuff’s in my suitcase.”

Fernando thinks about responding for like, a second, then grabs the other man's hand and yanks him up. Feliciano comes up surprisingly easy and he opens like a flower under Fernando's lips. Fernando slowly relaxes into that familiar touch, savoring Feli's lips, the feel of his strong back against his hands, the way Feliciano slowly takes control of the kiss. But then reality in the form of a curious Sofía cuts in far too soon. “Don't let her get that!” Fernando yelps as he crouches down to grab Feli's iPod. “She nearly dropped mine in the toilet last week.”

“With the music you listen to, no great loss,” Feliciano smirks. “Here nena, I brought you a present.” She gives him a look that says she _knows_ and why do they think she's digging in his bag in the first place, _honestly_ Uncle Feli. It's a very...detailed look and Feliciano gives a startled chuckle. “Wow,” he says, “that’s new.”

“Yes,” Fernando sighs. “She’s getting good at those.”

“Well guess what, Sofí?” Feliciano tells her as he pulls out a carefully wrapped present. Judging by the shape it's a DVD; they're just barely under airline weight requirements as it is anything bigger than a book is going to be left behind. “Uncle Feli gets to stay with you for the next three weeks.” She's too busy tearing into her present to listen and Feliciano gives an amused huff. “I love you too, Sofía.”

“Next three weeks, huh?” Ana's somehow slipped into the room unseen, and she's smirking with wicked glee.  “Should I book a separate room?”

Fernando glares at her too innocent face but Feliciano replies easily. “No, that's ok. Francisco's already got one, something about not wanting to share a wall with a screaming toddler.”

“I meant for you, Mr. Feliciano Lopez Diaz-Guerra.”

Thankfully Sofía picks that moment to tear away enough paper to see her present and they’re spared Ana’s teasing questions for the moment. She shrieks with glee and immediately runs to Ana to open the DVD. Fernando catches a glimpse of the cover. “Oh my god, you did not get her another fu-stupid Peep disc.”

Feliciano smiles at him, sunny and wide and _smug_. “I thought she might be bored of the other one,” he explains guilelessly.

“You suck,” Fernando glares. He can sing along with every episode of that stupid, stupid bird and his (hers? Fernando still can’t tell) stupid, stupid friends. “Do you know how many times I've had to sit through the first one?”

“Good. You'll be ready for some variety.” Feliciano's still smiling at him, so close Fernando can feel the heat of his body, the kinetic potential of his muscles. _I missed you_. It's not a thought or a conscious realization. It's a truth, and Fernando wishes he could say it.

But Ana's looking at him with suddenly calculating eyes, and Feliciano's watching him with softer curiosity. “It's good to see you,” he says instead as he takes a step back. “Did Maria come with you?”

Ana doesn't catch Feli's fleeting frown. “Of course not, Fer.” She flips her hair over her shoulders and cocks one hip. “Hi Feli.” She's smiling and looking at him from beneath her eyelashes and Fernando abruptly realizes that his little sister is _beautiful_. He's always known in that nebulous half-proud half-protective brotherly way, but it's entirely different to see her using that beauty in front of him for Feliciano in not quite flirtation but not quite a joke. Fernando wants to shove her like he did when she was six and she broke his first juniors trophy. But Feliciano just laughs before and grabs her in a huge hug and spins her around until she's shrieking with laughter. “Feli! Put me down right now!” When Feliciano finally puts Ana she's normal again and just smacks him on the arm before checking on Sofí, who's elected to ignore them all in favor of trying to open her new dvd.

“So you're here for how long?” Even though that strange awkward moment is gone like it never existed Fernando still changes the subject. “Still with us till Monte-Carlo?”

“Yeah,” Feliciano sneaks away his bag while Ana's showing Sofí how to open the case. “Our room's through there, no?”

******

Fernando wishes it was that easy all the time, but even with three people life with Sofí is hard.After only two days of Feliciano traveling with them it becomes eminently clear that Ana can’t take a quick vacation to New York.

“Nando,” Feli calls from the bathroom. “Can you grab her shampoo?”

“I thought you had it!”

“If I _had_ it I wouldn't be asking.” Feliciano's pissed off and Sofía's on one of her crying jags and Feliciano's beginning to understand that dealing with that awful wailing repetition is significantly more stressful when one has to play a match the next day. Sometimes giving her a bath stops the crying, but it's a slim hope. Sofía's pediatrician had told him that the crying was a normal reaction to her mother's death and the resulting upheaval, but that doesn’t help at 4 am when she won’t. Shut. Up. There's not much anyone can do other than reassure her that they love her.

“This is what I've been putting up with for the past 3 weeks,” Fernando yells back. “Now you know what it's like.” He roots through the bags until he finds the shampoo. “If you'd just put it in the right place we wouldn't have this problem.” He throws the bottle at Feliciano, so tired and irritated he doesn't even take the moment to appreciate a shirtless wet Feliciano. Sofía's struggling to get out of the bath, clawing at Feli's arms.

“Sofía, look,” Feliciano snaps. “You have crap in your hair. Hold still for one goddamn minute and I’ll get it out.” If possible Sofía screams louder at that and squirms out of Feli's hands in her fit. He lunges to grab her and bangs his elbow on the side of the tub. “ _Fuck_.”

“Hold her down.” Feliciano hadn't been able to grab the shampoo bottle so Fernando soaps his hands and scrubs his fingers through Sofía's hair. He rinses as quickly as he can without getting soap in her eyes. “OK, done. Here, I've got the towel.”

Between the two of them they get her dried off and into her sleeper. She refuses to be put down on the floor, so they take turns stripping to underwear and getting ready for bed.

“She wasn't this clingy before, was she?” Feliciano asks with a mouth full of toothpaste.

“No,” Sofía's crying has died to a steady whimpering, but it's more from exhaustion than anything they've done. “It's gotten worse. Dr. Garcia said it's normal.”

“Fantastic,” Feli sighs. “I suddenly understand Francisco's insistence for a room on the opposite end of the corridor. I’m done, let me take her.”

Thankfully once she's in her crib she falls to sleep almost instantly, fingers twined tightly in her blanket. “You don't need to stay with us,” Fernando offers. Feliciano does have his own room, more to keep his stuff and to keep Ana from getting too smug than anything else.

Feliciano just raises his eyebrows and dismissively flips back the ugly purple covers. “I hate to admit,” he says he crawls into bed, “but your parents were right. There's no way we could have managed this.” 

“No,” Fernando yawns as he gets comfortable underneath the sheets. “Really, really not,” and he doesn't know how to acknowledge the “we” right now. Honestly doesn't know if he'll ever be able to tell Feli how much that simple statement means to him. But that doesn't stop the warm tight pleasure following him to sleep.

******

Praise be the saints, it works. When Fernando eats lunch he does it with Sofía on his lap, grabbing rice from his plate. He watches videos of Rafa and Del Potre while Sofí sleeps next to him, wakes up half an hour early so he can feed her breakfast. After practice he showers and takes her down with them to dinner. Most tournaments he has at least a few friends, cousins or fellow players hanging around and thankfully everyone loves Sofía just as much as Feliciano. He and Ana try to have her in bed by 12 but there's usually quite a bit of glaring and sibling passive aggression before one of them gives up and takes her to Fernando's room. Feliciano thinks it's hilarious, and they usually ham it up more when he's around, both because he laughs like a loon and because he'll get frustrated with them and just put Sofí to bed himself. 

It's hard in ways he'd never even thought about. She wakes up in the morning calling for her mother, and she refuses to let her crocheted pink blankie out of sight. She cries when Fernando leaves, and cries when he comes back. There are days when she won't eat, won't sleep, will do nothing but cry.

She smells like soap and jasmine after her bath, and he knows the precise sound she makes before she cries. He can sing along with her Peep dvd, and despite his best efforts, she still loves the Catalan language dvd David Ferrer sent her. She's learning how to throw a tennis ball but still has no idea how to catch it, and he's lost three pairs of sunglasses to her fascination with his racket. She has the longest eyelashes and her second toes are longer than her big toes. He wakes up to her staring at him from her crib, curly black hair all over the place and, most days, her pink sleeper caught around her legs. She smiles and his stomach twists, she cries and he can't breathe.  When he meets her dark brown eyes he can't look away; he can describe every gold fleck, every striation.  

******

Ana and Sofí are out at the park and he and Feliciano take the opportunity to relax in a room NOT covered with pureed pears. “Maria, I told you,” Feliciano hisses into the phone. Fernando and David trade uncomfortable glances but continue playing FIFA in David’s room cool and blissfully quiet. They've sat through this before and probably will again, but that doesn't make it better. “I'm busy.” The tinny sound of Maria's voice is audible even ten feet away and both Fernando and David wince. “Not that it matters but yes I'm with Fernando. And David. And Francisco. And Ana. Do you want a list of who I had lunch with?” Whatever Maria says next must be harsh because he practically jumps for the balcony, the sliding glass door rattling on its frame as he slams it shut.

“So,” David says. “They've been doing that a lot lately.” David's normally pretty quiet when it comes to other people's business. For him to even mention the fighting means there must be a lot more of it than Fernando's realized.

“Really?”

David snorts. “Haven't you noticed? Like every time other time they talk they end up screaming. Didn't you see them at dinner last week?” 

“No, Sofí was sick. Ana and I stayed with her while Maria was here.”

Fortunately, David's innate discretion means he doesn't allude to other reasons as to why Fernando would want to stay away from Maria. “Well, they had a fight. You know, one of _those_ fights.” And yeah, Fernando knows exactly what David's eyeroll means. Feli and Maria have a certain...notoriety even among the famously dramatic Armada. “I don't know, it's getting tense.” 

Fernando firmly quashes the hopeful flutters in his throat. “They're always like that, though,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “They'll make up.”

“Maybe.” David doesn't sound sure, but over the past five years Fernando's learned not to get excited over these fights and dramatic endings. The other thing about David is that he's discreet for a reason; he's always been too good at reading the undercurrents. “I'm tired of this. Let's play Grand Theft Auto.”

******

 _“Feli, you don't have to do this.” Fernando fidgets uncomfortably, looking anywhere except at Feliciano.  He feels very seventeen and conscious of every day that Feli has on him, all legs and awkward hands that don't quite fit him yet. “I mean, I won't mind.”_

 _Feliciano smiles at him and for the first time Fernando realizes why his stomach flutters when he watches Feliciano reach for the ball. “Come on, Fer. A bet's a bet.”_

 _“I, um,” he blushes, such a stupid response. “Ok?” He looks around his bedroom, the familiar room suddenly full of strange angles and shadows. “How-how do we do this?”_

 _Feliciano pushes him against the bed and kneels in front of him. Fernando's had sex, had lots of sex, and but he still hasn't lost that forbidden thrill of touching another person's naked skin. But his best friend unbuttoning his pants is a different matter all together. He's hyperaware of the brush of Feli's fingers against his thighs and the hot puff of his breath. Sound and touch and smell are all vivid sharp sensations and he can't stand up, can't wait for Feli's mouth to actually touch him. Feli smells sharp and sweaty and just as his lips wrap around his cock his eyes meet Fernando’s. Feliciano is sinfully good and he’s on the edge of coming way too quickly. But even as he comes, stuttering and trembling in Feli’s mouth, he can’t look away from Feli’s dark, dark eyes._

*******

Thank God thank God thank God Sofía is, if not quiet, at least a fairly consistent child. She's up by 930, eats at 2, and naps from 3-5. She's sleepy by ten and never awake after 11.

 “Sofí,” he tells his daughter as he brushes her hair. “I need to go to practice, but auntie Ana is going to take care of you.” Her lower lip trembles and she takes a deep breath, the catching little hiccup a warning of imminent tears. “Pink dress or yellow shirt and green pants?”

Diverted, she calms down to look at both options. After careful consideration she grabs the pink dress. “Good choice!” he tells her, “That's a pretty dress.” They go through this routine every morning; he's so used to it by now that he automatically pulls out two outfits before he even wakes her up. He guides her arms through the sleeves and tugs it down, smoothing down the cotton. “Are you going to be good today?”

“Yes,” she says cheerfully.  

“You sure?” he asks her playfully. They do this every morning too. “I don't know, I think Sofí might be naughty today.”

“No,” she reassures him. “Good!”

“OK. Let's go wake up auntie Ana.”

Mirka has been the most helpful when it came to bring Sofía with him. “Routine,” she'd told him in her  accented English. “Children, especially around after about a year or two years old, need routine. All the more so because you will be moving around so much. Once she's on a schedule, keep her on it, no matter where you are. Make up little rituals for her that you can always keep. They don't have to be complicated, even just kissing her nose and brushing her hair before you go to practice will help.”

He and Ana had been dubious at first. Neither of them thought such little things would a difference, and as Ana said, “Mama just let us fall asleep at night. “We didn't have bedtimes till we started school.”

Fernando thought she had a point, but Feliciano had pointed out that Mirka knew more about bringing children on tour than their parents.

And so, despite some reservations, they have countless little routines. She wakes up around nine in the morning. Fernando dresses her, brushes her hair, and tells her to be good before handing her off to Ana. When he comes back to the room he picks her up and asks if she's been good. The answer changes from day to day, but he always asks. Ana takes her every morning, and depending on their schedule Feli or Fernando join them for lunch. Feliciano gives her a bath every night, and Fernando’s the only one who rubs lotion on her tummy as she falls asleep. Dinner is usually fun and loud; she's charmed every Armada player, and quite a few of the others. She's friendly and bright and everyone who doesn't have to live with her loves her fascination with sunglasses.

“They're not the ones who has to buy the damn things by the crate,” Feliciano points out over the shards of his latest pair. “Those were Prada!” He and Ana start picking them up while Fernando grabs Sofía.

“I'm thinking of just getting some Teflon coated,” Ana says, scowling at her.

“That could work,” Feliciano says. “You should do that to your Dolces, the red ones with the sparkles.”

“Ooh, I loved those ones!” Ana says, “But she destroyed them yesterday.”

“Are you kidding me?” Feliciano looks under the bland hotel sofa and fishes out a polarized shard. “How the hell did this get all the way over there? It's carpet!”

“Skill,” Fernando replies. Sofía's lip is trembling and she looks about two seconds from bursting into tears. “Sofí, don't cry honey, it's ok...”

“Nando,” Feli scolds as Ana rolls her eyes and mutters something about seeing what she deals with. “Did you read any of those parenting books? Sofía,” he grabs her from Fernando. “You need to be more careful. Do you see these?” He holds up part of the frames, PRA etched on the side. “This were uncle Feli's favorite pair of sunglasses. I'm really sad that you broke them.” Sofía looks more and more miserable and she squirms, turning her face away from Feli and reaching out for Fernando. “Sofía,” Feli repeats, “you need to be more careful. Now, can you please throw this in the trash?” Once Feli's released her she takes the piece to the trash and very carefully puts it in, one eye on Feli the entire time. “Good job, nena.” 

Sofía sticks her finger in her mouth but she relaxes, so Fernando calls it a resounding win. “Feli, you didn't talk to me for a week when I spilled wine on your Prada shirt.”

Feli shrugs. “That was different.” He smirks. “She's way prettier than you.”

Fernando can't disagree.

“Fernando.” Fernando jumps as someone slides behind him on the dance floor. The girl he's dancing with giggles and grinds closer, tilting her face up to Fernando, red lips curved and welcoming. He laughs and meets her halfway, her warm mouth parting readily under his.

Her jeans barely cover her hips and he slides his fingers over her warm skin, tips sliding below the denim. She laughs against his mouth and stretches so his hands slip lower.

A large warm hand slips under his shirt and slides up to rub at his stomach and Fernando purrs and arches into the touch. He doesn't need to turn or look, just slides his hand up into short hair and pulls Feliciano into an awkward kiss. The girl attempts to tug Fernando back, but Feliciano and Fernando both resist her, Feliciano with his best bitchy glare if the girl's face is anything to judge. She smiles in resignation and slips away through the dancing crowd.

“Nando,” Feli's hand falls to rest on his hip, “Fuck but I love these jeans.”

Fernando drops his head against Feli's shoulder and reaches back to hold Feli's hips. He starts a slow grind and lets the other man bear his weight as he rubs his ass against Feli's dick. “I know,” he says smugly. “Why do you think I wore them?” 

Feliciano laughs then nips at Fernando's ear, humming. “Well, as much as I hate to say it,” he says as he guides them through the chaotic mass on the dance floor. “We need to get back to the hotel before Ana kills you.” 

“Do I have to?” Fernando whines, but it's a formality more than anything else; he's already lost the pleasant buzz produced by alcohol and bodies and a pounding beat. He'd promised Ana she could take off the two days after the adidas party and previous experience has taught him that she takes that literally. Fernando's got her to concede that after parties count, but Feliciano's right: he shouldn't test it over some random woman he'll never see again. 

Only once they're out on the street does Fernando pull away from Feliciano. “What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight,” Feli replies as he texts, the blue light from the screen highlighting his face. “Like, 3 minutes to go.” Fernando pulls out his phone to message Ana but, “I let her know we'll be there in a few.”

“Oh, thanks.” The sounds of Miami, laughter and flirtation and Cuban music, travels through the slightly humid air. People pass by them, men and women both flirtatious and laughing, the promise of sex and alcohol and more almost tangible. He sighs. “I really love this city, Feli.” Feliciano hums his assent and they walk in silence for a few minutes, threading their way through people too drunk or busy to watch where they’re going. 

They quickly reach the hotel. “Feliciano,” he says. “You don't need to come. I mean, at least one of us should have fun.” The words are sour and he has to resist the urge to bite them back. Feliciano wants to be out, he knows, wants to dance, drink, flirt and fuck. It's there in the nearly visible thrum of Feli's body, the set of his mouth, his hooded blue eyes. 

Turning quickly so Feli won't see his face, he steps into the cool air of the hotel lobby. He's nearly to the elevator when Feli stops him. “Idiot,” the other man says and affectionately smacks the back of Fernando's head. “I have practice and meetings tomorrow, I wasn't looking to party.”

“Oh.” He's suddenly effervescent like the best champagne, bubbles singing through his blood. “If she's asleep, wanna watch a movie?”

Feliciano laughs and urges him against the wall with warm hands on his hips. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” he murmurs, voice still light with laughter.

Fortunately, once they get back to the rooms it turns out that Ana needs to get ready to go out, so they have time to shower before taking over. The second they’re in, Fernando’s on his knees, hot water beating down on his back and dripping in his eyes, as he sucks Feliciano off as slowly and deeply as he can.  Feliciano’s rubbing at his neck, his cheeks, fingers tracing Fernando’s lips as he slides up and down the slick length. He loves Feliciano like this, leaning on the wall for support and completely undone just from Fernando’s mouth. All too soon Feliciano’s hips start to stutter forward and Fernando takes a gulp of air and swallows him, throat coaxing Feliciano to an explosive finish.

Once he’s caught his breath Feliciano starts to kneel to return the favor, but honestly Fernando’s so close to the edge that he just guides Feliciano’s hand to his dick. It feels like only seconds before his spine tenses and pleasure races through his body to erupt in white almost painful light.

Twenty minutes later they’re in bed and Sofía’s light snuffling lulls them both to sleep.

*******

Fernando blinks awake, squinting as a sunbeam hits his eyes. “Feliciano?” The warm body behind him stirs and shuffles closer, morning erection hitching along the small of his back. There's a sound from the foot of the bed, reminding Fernando why he woke up. “Feliciano, is that you?”

“What, this?” Feliciano chuckles drowsily and thrusts against his ass, a slow and delicious slide that forces a pleased hum from Fernando's throat. 

Feliciano smells like his bodywash with just a hint of salt and underneath the familiar Feliciano muskiness. “You smell good.” He's drifting in that warm haze of waking; uncertain if he wants to wake up all the way. “Don't want to get up.”

“We don't need to, not yet,” Feli murmurs, apparently in the same state. “'fia's not up yet.”

“Yeah,” Fernando sighs, “We have a bit.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Fernando stroking his fingertips over the back of Feli's hand.

“Daddy!”

“Fuck!” “Sofí!” Fernando dives for the sheets as Feliciano rolls away from him and sits up. “Nena,” Feliciano recovers first. “How did you get out of bed?”

Feliciano does his best to sound calm, but Sofía's good at catching undercurrents. Her lower lip trembles and her eyes glisten as she takes that first hesitant breath that precedes a crying fit. Fernando instinctively reaches for her. Feliciano yelps and flips the sheets over his ass as he stretches full out along the bed. His face is even with hers and with some effort he cups her cheek. “It's ok, baby,” he tells her. “I'm here, I'm here, you don't need to cry.”

Of course, she does.

And somewhere in the process of picking her up and comforting her and Feliciano trying to cover them as much as possible with the sheets and, as a last resort, the pillows, Fernando starts to laugh. His life is completely and utterly upended, complicated beyond recognition but remarkably, he’s okay with that.

******

 _PREMATCH INTERVIEW WITH FERNANDO VERDASCO_

 _Interviewer: So Fernando, tell us how you’re feeling about this match._

 _Verdasco: Well, I feel good, no? My knees are fine, I got lots of sleep last night. I just have to play my best._

 _Interviewer: You mentioned sleep. Rumor has it you have your daughter on tour with you this year. How do you manage that?_

 _Verdasco: Well, I am very lucky. My sister Ana is traveling with us and, [laughs] before a big match she will take care of her._

 _Interviewer: So your sister’s the secret to your success._

 _Verdasco: Yes! I’m very lucky she comes with us. I think she enjoys it, she gets time to be, how do you say it, see things? Tennis players, we are on courts and in hotel, nothing else, no? But she gets to see more._

 _Interviewer: How does everyone else feel about you bringing your, how old is she?_

 _Verdasco: Nearly two._

 _Interviewer: Two year old daughter on tour?_

 _Verdasco: Again, I am lucky, no? Juan, my coach, loves her. And I have family with me, cousins and my father. Plus, Feliciano Lopez is a great help._

 _Interviewer: Well, judging from the way you’ve been playing taking the family on the road seems to agree with you. Good luck, Fernando!_

 _Verdasco: Thank you._

******

In Monte Carlo, Feliciano gets knocked out at round 16. The second he's off the court he's calling for the physio.

“So?” Once he's won his match, Fernando finds the other man. “What'd she say?” Feliciano's icing his knee in one of the smaller lounges, alone except for a couple of juniors in the corner who are too busy with their phones to pay attention to them 

“Anterior knee,” Feliciano replies briefly. This is the third or fourth time he's had the problem this year. He gets quieter with every recurrence and he no longer rails against his body, rather just following whatever the physios recommended. “I'm heading home for a few days, get it looked at.”

“Oh.” There's absolutely nothing he can do or say that will make this better. “Same guy Rafa's been seeing, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Although Fernando knows it's only because Feli hasn't showered yet, he imagines he can smell and taste the damp stink of defeat. “I just...I barely managed to finish the match. What,” he takes a deep breath but his Feli is strong, always been stronger than him, and so he raises his blue eyes and meets Fernando's, “What if it doesn't work?” It's the first time either have ever brought up the possibility. 

“It will work, Feliciano,” he says. The two girls in the corner are huddled around one's iPhone and so he laces his fingers through Feli's and holds on. “You'll be fine.”

******

“Fee!” Sofía hiccups, clutching her blanket to her. “Fee, Fee.” 

Fernando sighs and continues to jiggle her in his arms. “Sofí, he's not here right now. He'll be back later.” Sofí continues to cry, large tears running down her blotchy cheeks. “Baby, I know,” he soothes. “I miss him too, I miss him too.” He presses her against his shoulder but she thrashes until she pulls free and escalates to a frustrated wail. “I promise, he'll be back.” And he will, he knows. Even before Sofí fell in love with him he's been sure of Feliciano. They can fight and bicker, find new girlfriends  or coaches, fuck up knees or ankles or shoulders.  He's never once doubted it: Feliciano is his. And, in the middle of the night when he can't sleep for the thought of Feli's face when he was looking at his knee, he admits that he belongs to Feli. 

Eventually Sofí wears herself out, and after a few minutes of her drowsing in his arms he dares to put her to bed. He wishes he could kiss her, but he doesn't dare wake her up. Instead, he touches one finger to her cheek. “I miss him too.”

******

Thankfully he's proven right when Feliciano rejoins them four days later. “New knee wrap,” he explains while at their feet Sofía tries to unzip one of his bags. “Need to pretty much wear it 24/7.”

“Any pain?”

Feliciano looks at him. “Of course not.” Thanks to Sofía the _dumbass_ is implied instead of spoken, but Fernando's pretty certain even she picks up on it. “You think Francisco would let me come back if there was?”

“Good.” Fernando catches his daughter’s eye. “Sofí, be careful with that.” 

She looks at them with wide eyes that are just dripping with innocence. Feliciano snorts. “Yeah, no. Come here, nena.” She only resists for a moment when he picks her up, eyes immediately zeroing in on the sunglasses pushed up in his blond hair. 

“Oh no you don't,” Fernando says and twitches them away. “Let's not remind him how destructive you are until _after_ he's unpacked.” 

“Sofí,” Feliciano says. “Do you remember what I told you about touching other’s peoples things?” She pouts, but she nods. “Good. You need to be careful, nena.” He reaches into his bag. “Tell you what, baby. You can play with my bands, ok?” She takes the stiff rubber tubing with a dubious look but quickly realizes she can smack the ends on things. The floor. Feli’s suitcase. Fernando’s knee.

“Ouch!”

He starts to say her name but she’s already anxiously patting his leg. “Sowwy,” wide-eyed and utterly sincere in the way only children can be. But the second she sees him smile she’s off to play again. 

“You never stood a chance.” Feliciano puts his hand over the spot Sofía’s just kissed. He’s smiling and happy and here and yeah, Fernando never had a chance. Against either of them.

******

Things fall back into their established patterns, but two weeks after his return Feli has to leave again, this time for a minor tournament. Thankfully, Sofía doesn’t take it quite so badly this time, but that might have more to do with the newfound appreciation for video skype than anything else.

Fernando hisses as his racket catches a hangnail. “Fuck!” He drops his racket and gnaws his nail, the jagged edge cutting into his tongue. He winces as he tears it free and spits it out with a little too much force.

“Wow,” Feli chuckles. “If only Calvin Klein had footage of this.”

Fernando turns to see the other man leaning over the net and smirking at him. “Where’d you come from, thought you weren't coming back till tomorrow?” He asks as he hugs the other man. Feli's been away at a minor tournament for the past several days with Maria. “Congrats, by the way.” He kisses one stubbly cheek then the other. “Forget something, Fidgiano?”

“Thanks. What? Oh, my face. Yeah,” he smirks. “Didn’t have a chance this morning.”

Fernando chuckles and lightly smacks cheek and Feli squawks in mock outrage. “Come on, lover boy,” he says. “Let's go indoors.”

“Don't you need to train?”

“I'm done for the morning,” he replies as he grins at the girls who rush to claim the court after them. “Gym then lunch. Actually,” he whacks Feli's stomach with his racket, “forget about lunch. Maybe just the gym for you.”

“What?” Feli reaches for him and Fernando laughingly flinches away. 

“Look, it's Uncle Feli!” Both look up to see Sofía in Ana's arms, waving furiously at them and babbling happily. 

“Fee!” she says, entire face shining. 

“Who's my beautiful girl?” Feliciano grabs her easily, Sofí clinging to him. It falls to Fernando to grab the diaper bag Ana's holding out with a pointed look. 

“I just changed her and she has water and snacks in the bag. I'll be back at 3,” she says. “I grabbed your credit card.” She raises her eyebrows, obviously waiting for a fight, but recently Fernando's learned to pay his card without looking at the balance. With a victorious smile she kisses Sofí. “I'll see you later, baby.” 

Sofí's face crumples but Feli forestalls the oncoming fit by giving her his keys. “Hold these for me, baby. There you go, see? No need to cry.” He looks over her head to Fernando. “Lunch? And Fernando, if you say one word about my weight I'm running off with your daughter.” 

“You're welcome to her,” he replies even as he hefts her diaper bag. He tucks her hair behind her ear. “What'd you do with your auntie, Sofí?” 

She starts to tell them both about her day, which apparently featured watching Peep and and something else very exciting that might have involved a puppy. Either Fernando's gotten better at deciphering her babble or she's enunciating more; he and Ana disagree over which.

He and Feli are nearly to the court gate when she starts to squirm. Feliciano lets her down and she totters to the door and pushes it open, smiling back in pride.

“Feliciano!” Maria's standing outside the tarp covered fence that surrounds the court. She's wearing sunglasses and a simple white dress that's nearly blinding against her glowing skin. If Fernando wasn't so busy not reacting to her presence he would probably appreciate the effect, like chalk lines on a clay court. 

“Maria!” Feli kisses her. “I thought you were shopping this afternoon?”

“I was,” she answers, “but I got bored. I was hoping to catch you,” her eyes flash to Fernando so quickly he almost misses it, “for lunch, but if you're busy I understand.”

“Of course not!” Feli answers before Fernando can find a way to gracefully decline. “Ana was just dropping-Sofía, come back sweetheart!” Sofía's halfway down the fence, tiny fingers gripping the chain link fence as she toddles along. As he jogs after her, Maria greets Fernando, one eye taking in the diaper bag over his shoulder. Her eyes darken with something like jealousy, and her kisses to Fernando's cheeks are briefer than usual. 

“Lovely to see you, Fernando. I take it the little girl my boyfriend's chasing after is your daughter?”

He smiles tightly. Over half a decade long subtle battle for Feliciano, they've finally come to a grudging truce. It's a complex and strained agreement, held in place only through the desire to keep Feliciano from being hurt.

There's a new twist to her mouth as they watch Feli chivvy Sofía back to them. Fernando's abruptly reminded of her nearly five years with Feliciano, and he finds himself wondering what she's given up while waiting for Feli.

“Yeah, that's my little girl.” His voice has just an extra edge and he genuinely doesn't know if it's pity or empathy.

Either way she catches it and she tenses; she won’t accept either feeling. “He's good with her,” she says calmly, and this time not even her mouth betrays her feelings.

“Yes,” Fernando agrees. “She loves her Uncle Feli.”

Maria's good, she doesn't even flinch. Instead she lashes back, “She's so little. If she was mine, I'd worry about her living in hotel rooms all the time.” She smiles at him, almost sweet. Feliciano gives up on getting Sofía to walk back with him and instead swings her up into his arms as she shrieks with laughter. “And you, pretty girl, must be Sofía. Your uncle Feli has told me all about you.” 

Sofí stops fidgeting in Feli's hold, instead tucking her face in Feli's neck, suddenly shy. “It's OK, nena,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “She's nice, I promise.” He splits his smile between Maria and Fernando. 

Maria laughs gently. “Hello Sofía,” she introduces herself. “I'm Maria. I really like your dress, sweetheart.” 

Sofía tilts so she can see Maria. “Hi,” she says, plucking at her dress, her bright eyes carefully scanning the woman.

“Those are really pretty blue flowers,” Maria smiles, and Sofí finally smiles.

“No. Red,” she says sternly, and gives Maria the most withering look Fernando has ever seen on a nearly-two-year-old.

“Oh, I see,” Maria straightens her face and does a good job looking abashed. “I get those two mixed up.” She holds out her purse. “Is this red or blue? I can't tell.”

“Blue,” Sofía tells her and she abruptly relaxes. Deciding Maria’s not going to eat her she wriggles for Feli to let her down. He does and she toddles over to Fernando and grabs at his leg, eyes on Maria the whole time. “Hi.”

Maria kneels, careful in her white dress and sandals. “Hello,” she replies gravely. Sofía immediately reaches for her sunglasses. “Would you like to see my sunglasses?” 

“Again with the sunglasses, Sofí?” Fernando asks his daughter with fond exasperation. 

They look up at him, both girls squinting and smiling in the harsh sunlight. Fernando’s heart stutters in his throat, and he’s too scared to look at the man beside him. He recognizes the longing in Maria’s face, has heard it in Feli's voice late at night when he's soothing Sofí to sleep, seen it in the way he strokes Sofí's hair when she plops in his lap like he's a piece of furniture, felt it in his gentle hands when they trade her off. 

He brings it up again that evening. “Feli. Feliciano. You know you don’t have to do this, right? I mean, Sofí’s not your daughter, and you have your own life.” Maria had been devastated. She tried to hide it, but he’d seen her watch Feliciano play with Sofí. She was afraid she’d never have that with Feliciano, and it was only then that Fernando realized how much she’s given up for Feli. Now he has Sofía, no matter how inconvenient and exasperating she may be, he has to give Feliciano the option. “Maria would love to give you one of your own to play with.” 

Fernando looks down at his cup, not willing to meet Feli’s eyes. He won his match this morning and Fernando’d just won his, so they’re at a café eating gelato – that they’ve both agreed their coaches will never know about – to celebrate. He wraps his lips around his spoon and savors the cold tang of oranges as he waits for Feli’s reply. 

It takes a while for Feli to respond. “I’m not doing this because I suddenly have baby fever, Fer. Maria knows that.” 

“Ah.” He thinks of her kneeling on the court letting Sofía play with her sunglasses. “Are you sure?” 

Again, Feliciano doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he takes his time spooning up every last morsel of chocolate gelato. Only once it’s all gone does he meet Fernando’s eyes. “We’ve talked about it. I don’t…we’re still…it’s complicated.” 

“Feliciano, you owe it to her to figure this out.” _You owe it to Sofí_ , he wants to say, but the air is overwhelmingly tense as it is.

“I know. We talked about it last week. She wanted to know what exactly we’re doing. I told her…” he shrugs. “Fuck, Fernando. You know why I’m doing this. I mean, how can I not love Sofía?”

“Is that the only reason?” slips out. He wants to grab the words back; they don’t bring this up for a reason. 

Feliciano looks at him, blue eyes steady. “Do you want me to answer that, Fernando?” 

For the first time Fernando wonders what would happen if he said yes. Feliciano has hinted at this before, but he never says anything directly, daring Fernando to call him on it. Fernando has a feeling Feli wouldn’t be quite as comfortable as his question implies. “No.”

Feliciano nods. “No matter what happens, Nando,” he says, “I’m still Sofí’s uncle Feli. I’m not going to abandon her, I swear.”

Fernando hears the unspoken _and you_ and for right now that’s more than enough.

The next day Feliciano and Maria have an argument and Maria goes back home to Madrid. Feliciano’s upset for a couple hours but he shakes it off pretty quickly. By unspoken agreement Fernando and Ana don’t mention it, and by the next day things are back to normal. 

********

“Feli,” Fernando says, fighting to keep his voice down. “Please, please, please...” He palms Feli's ass and nudges closer. “God, it's been days.” And it has. He and Ana used to trade nights with her, but now she's sleeping through the night she spends most nights with him. He's thought about arguing, but it's difficult to tell your little sister that you can't keep your child because you want to get laid. And then Feli was at the tournament and brought Maria back and it’s just been a long time.

“Fer,” Feli says with a whispered laugh, “Sofí's right over there!” Despite his words he doesn't pull away, instead arches into the touch. 

“She's sleeping,” Fernando whines. “She'll never know.” He noses along Feli's jaw to his neck. Licks his lips and breathes against Feli's creamy skin. Just the smell sends a thrill of heat up his body and oh but he's missed this, this hot slide of skin against skin, so close so hot he could explode with the heat and the pleasure and he wouldn't care.

“Fer-nando,” Feli moans. “That's not fair.” A slide of limbs and he's behind him, tucking his chin into the crook of Fernando's neck. “You need to sleep.” 

“No,” Fernando says. “I need to be fucked.” Feli's cock twitches against his ass and he smiles unseen at the wall. “Don't you want to fuck me, Feli?” he purrs. “Don't you want to slide into my ass and make me scream, make me beg for more, God...” Tilts his head and kisses Feli, lingering on his pouty lower lip, trembles at Feli's resulting groan.

“Fuck, Nando,” Feli grunts. Tucks his hand under Fernando’s neck and palms his jaw, trying to pull him away from his own mouth. “You say the filthiest things,” and one of his fingers somehow ends up in Fernando's mouth. Fernando regretfully gives up Feli’s mouth to latch onto his fingers, sucking and twirling his tongue. Despite what Feli thinks, he's aware his daughter is in the room so he fights to be quiet. But, he can't help the obscene wet sounds coming from his mouth, can't help the shivered whimpers of _want_. “Fernando,” Feli mutters in a low rumble.

“Fuck.” He shoves his finger deeper down his throat and Fernando nearly chokes but it's good so good and he sucks even harder, pulling in three of Feli's fingers now, going crazy trying to drive him crazy but also just wanting, needing Feli to touch him, to fuck him, to just make this burning aching need disappear, keep going, whatever. Without conscious thought he makes a pleading sound around Feli's fingers and is almost surprised when Feli jerks his hand away, leaving his mouth open and spit slick. 

“Feli,” he whispers, painfully aware of the little girl sleeping not 10 feet away. “Please, we have to be quiet, please.” 

“Oh now you're worried about her?” Feli grunts as he lifts Fernando's leg over his hip, sliding a palm down to cup his ass. “Weren't you the one begging me for my cock?” 

Sudden laughter bubbles through him. “As long as it's your _quiet_ cock.” 

Feli blinks and his hand on Fernando's ass stills. “What?” He snorts, the sound too loud. Both men still, but thank God there's no sleepy cry. “I'll show you quiet cock.” Somehow he manages to grab the lube without letting go of Fernando. He puts a steadying hand on Fernando's stomach. “Roll forward,” he instructs. When Fernando does a slick finger strokes over his opening then slowly sinks in. He inhales slowly, the slow burn so good after so long. He stretches his head awkwardly backward in a search for Feli's lips. Feli meets him halfway and mouths at the line of his jaw. “So hot, Nando,” he whispers. “God, missed you.”

Fernando exhales sharply as another finger joins the first. “You too,” he mutters. He shoves one hand back and up and ignores the warning twinge of his shoulder to twine his fingers through Feli's hair. “I'm ready,” he says. “Just do it.”

“So romantic,” Feli teases him, but he obediently replaces his fingers with the head of his cock then pauses. Fernando tries to roll back but Feliciano's hand on his hip keeps him on his side. “You know you love it.” And he does, loves that delicious moment of anticipation, blunt pressure just hinting at a coiled strength and power. Feliciano holds onto the moment, one, two, three, then, just as Fernando's opens his mouth to complain, he pushes in one long burning slide and Fernando's breath is driven from him in one loud whoosh.

Feli withdraws then slides back in, cock brushing that place that makes Fernando shudder and and gasp. Fernando whines and, with the hand still wrapped in Feli's hair, pulls his mouth down to his shoulder in an unspoken plea. A groan vibrates against his skin followed by the vicious pleasure of Feli's teeth. Fernando gasps, the sound loud in the silent room.

“Nng,” Sofía's sleepy grumble makes them both freeze and Fernando spares a thought to how ridiculous they must look frozen like this. Unfortunately, even the threat of Sofía's waking isn't enough to dull his arousal and he squeezes on Feliciano, covering a gasp at how full he fills. Feliciano grits his teeth so hard Fernando can hear the grind. “Fer,” he groans. “Fuck.”

“Just a little bit more,” Fernando pants. “Please, please, just one more minute...” Feliciano grinds into him dirty and hard and just right, grabbing his cock at the same time and Fernando slaps his hand over his mouth to hide his resulting groan. “Feli, Feli.”

“Fuck, Fer,” Feliciano gets out and then he’s rutting against him, the familiar shuddering and clenching almost almost _almost_ enough to set Fernando off. But he’s not quite there and he hangs on that delicious edge, body tense and waiting and every single atom of him begging for one more touch. Just as pulls out he tightens his fist on Fernando’s cock and jerks, just once. Fernando’s entire body seizes with pleasure and beneath the roar of ecstasy shaking his bones he registers Feli’s pained hiss as he clamps down on his sensitive cock.

Fernando doesn’t pass out but the rooms goes briefly out of focus. When things are clear again he’s on his back and Feliciano’s half reclined on the pillows.

“You're the only person I've laughed with during sex,” Feli says, the words too loud in the post coital hush but he quickly lowers his voice with an anxious glance toward Sofí’s crib.  “It's weird.” 

Fernando shifts just enough to feel the delicious ache of sex. “Mmm, what do you mean?” His stomach itches with drying sweat and a smear of come Feli'd missed when he'd wiped them down and he idly runs his fingers across the stickiness.

“Fernando,” Feli says, looking down at him. He huffs in exasperation and wipes away his come with a corner of the blanket. “I'm being serious.” 

Fernando rolls onto his side and twists to tuck his feet underneath Feli's knees. “I'm listening.” 

“I,” Feli struggles for the words, “I’m different with you than anyone, you’re different than anyone else. The way we touch and how we know each other.” Feli’s face is shadowed by the faint light from the bathroom and he shrugs, abruptly uncomfortable in the way he always is when they talk about emotions.  So Feli weaves his fingers through Fernando’s hair and tugs. “I like your hair like this. First time in years it's been longer than mine. Of course,” he smirks, “doesn't look nearly as good as mine.” 

“Asshole.” Fernando strokes the smooth tan skin of Feli's hip, still half drunk on the post coital euphoria and each brush of his fingers just prolongs the sleepy pleasure. “I like it like this.” 

“What, sex?” Feli shifts, careful not to disturb Fernando's hand.

“Well, yeah, but no. This. Sex with you.” He's drugged with the moment, with the hushed stillness of their quiet conversation and the quiet puff of Sofí's humidifier. “We've been doing this more, well, as much as we have time. 'S'nice.” He yawns and tucks in closer, on that delicious edge between awake and dreaming, Feliciano a golden shadow. The dark hollow of his clavicle, the shadowed curve of his ear. He considers for once replying to Feli’s near confession, but he’s tired. All he wants is to hold onto this moment and he clutches at the hard sharpness of Feli's hip, abruptly near tears. “I miss you all the time,” he confesses. Or he thinks he does, the pain as he says the words too sharp to be real. It’s as close to a declaration as he get right now and even unheard in the dark it’s terrifying. 

Feli doesn't hear him. Before he can decide if he’s grateful or disappointed Fernando falls asleep. 

******

“What did my two favorite people do today?” He's quiet as to not wake the sleeping Sofí lying on Feliciano's stomach. Feli's watching a muted Sampras vs. Agassi '02, stretched long and lean along the couch. Sofí's feet ruck up his shirt just enough to reveal the fine edge of his hipbone and it's enough cognitive dissonance that Fernando can’t even look at the tempting skin.

“Oh you know, the usual.” He braces Sofí with a gentle hand as he shifts. “We found a playground, met up with Ana for lunch. She's going to dinner with that guy she met on Monday, the blond one.” 

“Going to dinner or 'going to dinner'?” Yes, his sister is 19 years old and fully capable of making her own decisions, but Fernando's still a big brother. They've worked out an unspoken agreement when it comes to each other’s sex lives: mutual denial. 

Feliciano snorts. “Seeing as your dad's here tomorrow morning, she better not be.” 

“Oh crap.” Fernando'd forgotten about that. Jose's usually on tour with him, but this season he's had to be in Madrid to deal with the restaurant. “He's not going to be staying here, is he?”

“Well of course, Nando,” Feli says sarcastically. “I thought right next to our room so he can hear me fucking your brains out.”

Fernando flicks his forehead reprovingly. “Language, Mr. Lopez.” Feliciano snaps his teeth, but he can't really move his head with Sofía lying on his chest. “So she calmed down this morning?” She'd had one of her crying jags last night, sobbing for her mother until 3 in the morning. Ana and Feli had urged him to sleep in Ana's room but he refused; his daughter's pain is suddenly more important then him being properly rested. 

“Yeah,” Feli replies. “After you left she and I slept for another couple hours. It's still weird, you know? The way she turns on and off like that.” 

“I know. But-” 

“Dr. Garcia says it's normal.” Feli says with him. “Yeah, yeah.” Feliciano hurts with Sofía too. Fernando thought he and Feli were as close as it was possible to be; but like with so many things Sofí's proved him wrong. “I wish she didn't have to go through this.” 

“Me too.” Sofía’s breathing in just audible bursts not quite loud enough to be called snores, small feet twitching in her sleep. Moments like this Fernando still can’t believe that she’s really his, that he gets to have this. 

“So,” Feli cranes his head awkwardly to meet his eyes and Fernando automatically sits down to make it easier, “your dad’ll be here tomorrow.” 

“Yep.” 

“Aaaaand we’re sharing a room.” 

“Yes.” 

Feliciano huffs an exasperated sigh. “And you don’t see a problem with this.”

Fernando shrugs. “Not really. You know he knows about us.” 

“Fernando,” he replies, voice dry and on the edge of mocking, “there’s a difference between walking in on us making out and realizing that we’ve been sharing a bed.” 

 _“Fernando,” his father says after Feli makes his blushing escape, “what are you doing?” It’s the first words he’s spoken since he opened the bedroom door to see Fernando with his hands down Feli’s pants. “I mean, I knew about Feli, but…” His voice is sad, and he looks like he’s aged ten years since this morning. “You’re-”_

 _“I’m not!” Fernando denies quickly and his father’s disappointment is  painful in the way only a 17 year old boy can feel. “Honestly Dad, I’m not gay.”_

 _“That’s not what it looked like from here.” Despite the sarcastic words he sounds dry and almost cruel. God, he saw Fernando begging Feli, pleading him to su- he slams a door over the thought. The court, the gym, the weight room, anywhere sounds better than here right now. Hell, even suicide sprints would be preferable to his dad’s blank face._

 _“I’m not,” he stutters. “It’s not like that! It’s just…Feli.”_

 _“Just Feli,” his father repeats tonelessly._

 _“Yes.” Feliciano was the first boy (and they were boys, he knows. Despite their actual ages they were both just boys in the way that only aspiring athletes can be) he’d ever slept with. In the following three years he’s tried again a couple times, but the sex with those nameless strangers has never been good enough to be worth risking his career. “It’s only Feli.”_

 _Judging by his face, Juan doesn’t find that quite the reassurance Fernando intended it to be._

It’s a spectacularly vivid memory; Fernando can still remember the way Feli’s spit dried on his neck while his father talked. Thinking back on it with the new perspective Sofía’s brought to everything she touches, yeah. He understands his father’s expression. “What?”

“I said,” Feliciano repeats himself, “I can move into the other room, if it’ll make things easier.” 

Sofía chooses that moment to grunt and stretch her arms and both men freeze. Fortunately it’s only a twitch and she settles back to sleep. 

Fernando knows what he wants, knows what Feli wants, know what Sofía wants. But finding the words is excruciating. “Um. Well. I mean,” he stutters out, sudden fear gripping him at what he’s about to say. “Babies need consistency. She’d be confused if you suddenly weren’t there. And, um,” this is the hard part, “Idon’twantyoutoo.” 

Feliciano stops breathing. Just a moment’s hesitation but Fernando catches it. There’s a whole new layer of concern he doesn’t want to examine. “You just want someone else to change her at 5 in the morning,” Feliciano says, obviously working to be as teasing as the words. Again, Fernando knows him too well: Feli’s just as scared as he is. 

“You discovered my master plan.” It’s a weak retort at best, but it’s enough for them both to pretend everything’s ok. Enough that Fernando can ignore the sinking disappointment at the missed chance of – of something important enough to mourn. “I’ll let dad know what’s going on. Actually,” he reconsiders, “I’ll get Ana to do it. He can’t yell at her too much.” 

“Wow. Fernando Verdasco Carmona ladies and gentlemen, the courageous champion.” 

“Oh shut up.” He gets to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I need to figure out how to bribe my little sister.”

“Come on, Sofí,” Fernando tells his daughter. They're both in swimsuits, Fernando in his trunks and Sofía in a black and white polka dot suit. Fernando had bought it because it was the only girl's suit even close to Real Madrid's colors. “We're going to the beach.” 

He's slowly getting used to the whole process of taking a toddler anywhere; it only takes him twenty minutes to get ready this time. He has 10 days until the next tournament and he's decided to take a few days off to spend time with his daughter. Ana's gone home for the week; Feliciano picked up a strain in Barcelona and he's agreed to accompany them to the next tournament. 

What should be a five minute walk turns into twenty, another aspect of parenting Fernando's had to get used to. Sofí refuses to go anywhere without her yellow shoes, and then she decides she doesn't want to carry her spade and bucket. After that's been remedied (by Fernando grabbing it), Sofí decides she doesn't like her hat and tries to throw it away. After retrieving it from the trash can, Fernando finally picks her up and carries her the rest of the way, ignoring her increasingly loud complaints. 

The second Fernando puts her on the sand she's on all fours scrabbling for shells. “Sofí,” he warns as he spreads the blanket on a few yards above the wave line. “Don't go too far.” He squints up at the sky. It's only the beginning of May so it's not too hot, but the sun is really bright.  With one wary eye on his daughter he pulls his shirt off and sprays some sunscreen on his back. He’d already slathered Sofí with the stuff at the hotel so he just make sure he grabs her bottle and settles to watch her explore. 

Sofí jumps a little when she reaches the wet sand but within a minute she's poking and prodding at the ground with a happy smile. Fernando's used to beaches with more topless women and less families, but this isn't too bad. He hands his daughter her shovel and pail but she just looks at them with her forehead wrinkled in confusion. After he's shoveled two or three scoops of sand in the bucket she understands, and she yanks it away from him. “Sofía,” he chides, but it's halfhearted at best. Sofía ignores him completely, instead opting to flail at the sand with her shovel. 

They spend a good five minutes just scooping sand, wet and dry. After that she's done with shoveling, and she points imperiously at the ocean. “Ocean,” he tells her. “That's the ocean.” He and Ana have started taking her to the hotel pools, but as far as he knows this is the first time she's been to the beach, at least since he got her. “Want to go in?” 

She doesn't, but twenty minutes and a diaper change later she's ready. Holding both of her hands tight, he steps into the backwash of a wave. Sofía laughs with startled delight as the water touches her feet but then looks to him to make sure he still has her. “It's ok,” he responds to her little worried face. “Daddy’s here.” Thus reassured, Sofía takes several tottering steps until the water covers her feet. 

After a bit she's bored again and they make their way back to the dry sand. They both sit down on the blanket and Fernando feeds her a jar of peaches. 

“Hi.” There's a little boy in front of them holding a pail that's almost as big as he is.  His swimsuit is a searing orange and he looks about three. But Fernando's bad at judging children's age; he'd have sworn Sofí was at least two and a half when he first met her. “Wanna play?” 

Sofía looks to Fernando for permission. “If you want to Sofí, go for it.” Another boy, obviously the boy's older brother (and in identically florescent trunks), joins them. 

“We're making a sandcastle over there.” He points to a heap of sand about twenty feet away. “Want to help?” 

Sofía pulls herself up and leans against Fernando's side and twirls her hair, a habit Fernando's learned to read as nervous. “I'll be right here,” he reassures her. “Why don't you go play?” This is something he and his parents have discussed. Following Fernando like this, Sofía doesn't get a lot of contact with other children. Ana's always been able to find a playground close to whatever court he's playing and Sofía plays with other children there. Ana reassures him over and over that Sofí's perfectly fine with other children, but he can't help but worry when he sees her hesitate like this. “Go on.” When she still hesitates Fernando sweeps her into his lap; Sofía shrieks happily and clings to his neck. He blows a raspberry on her neck, but she still shows no sign of wanting to go with the boys. 

“Tell you what,” he tells her, little feet digging into his thighs. “Why don't I come build a castle with you?” She nods and bounces off him to grab her shovel. With several backwards looks to make sure he's following she follows the two boys across the sand. Fernando sinks to his knees next to her. Abruptly shy again, she pushes her shovel into his hands and sits back to watch the two busily digging boys. Obediently he scoops some sand on the pile, making a big deal of patting it in place. 

Five minutes later she's dumping a pail of sand halfway on the castle, halfway on Javi's (the younger boy) foot. Score one for Ana. Fernando waves at what he presumes are Javi and Juan's parents and kisses Sofía's head. When she smacks him with her shovel he takes the hint and walks back to the water. 

He takes a running dive and kicks, swimming as far as he can underwater. When he finally bursts to the surface the first thing he does is look for Sofía. She's still happily digging with the boys and obviously not worried about his absence. 

It's the first time he's been in the ocean since he took custody of Sofía. That was about what, three, four months ago? Guerro called him right after the Australian Open, so it's been at least five months. Slicking back his hair, he plants his feet on the sandy bottom and stands. The water comes to his chest and when the next wave comes, he relaxes his knees and lets the warm water sweep him towards the shore. 

When he gets there Feliciano is allowing Javi and Sofía bury his legs in the sand; Sofí's already managed to snag his sunglasses. “I thought you were practicing?” Fernando flops next to them, sand sticking to his wet skin. Sofía waves her shovel at him but continues to dump sand on Feli's legs. 

“Yeah,” Feliciano shrugs. “’Cisco decided I needed a break. I thought she was getting better about the sunglasses.” 

“I did too,” Fernando says. “Thought we were over this. Have you noticed it’s mostly rackets now?” 

Feliciano laughs. “Yeah, and my underwear. You should have seen Ana’s face when Sofí came out in those and nothing else.” Feliciano is in his swimsuit, dark blue against the dark tan of his skin. He's squinting against the sun, but Fernando doesn't need to see his eyes to know that wide grin is real. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Even if your leg hurts you can still hit the gym.”

Feliciano heaves an exasperated sigh. “Fer, I’m going to the gym tonight.” He gives an irritated smile. “If it makes you feel better Francisco nearly ordered me to come here. ‘Go to the beach and don’t come back till it’s cooler’.” 

Fernando raises his hands. “Sorry. Didn't mean to piss you off, princess.” Feliciano throws a handful of sand that he doesn't bother to duck. Most of it just clings to his still damp back and he shakes just enough for most of it to slough off. The sand that remains slowly dries in the sun, the ocean salt and grit creating a not unpleasant itch. 

Feliciano pretends to try to escape from the sand Sofí and Javi are dumping on him. Juan patiently ignores all three of them giggling, instead carefully building a more detailed castle than the original pile of sand. Fernando thinks about helping him out with a handful of wet sand, maybe some advice on the turrets, but he choses not to; the boy is so obviously enjoying making it all on his own. Fernando recognizes the expression and the feeling behind it; six months ago he would have recognized it but it wouldn't have made him smile so widely his lips are on the verge of cracking. Someday, probably soon, Sofía will have the same expression as she what, climbs the stairs by herself? First learns how to take a DVD out of the case? “This is crazy.” 

“What is?” Feliciano asks. Sofía and Javi have managed to cover his legs up to his thighs in sand. Granted, he has to be careful not to move to be covered, but still. Covered. 

“Just, this.” Fernando waves his hands to encompass, well, everything. “I mean, Sofí's going to be as big as Juan over there soon.” Up till now his life has been marked by the yearly progression of tournaments -Australia, Miami, Monte Carlo, Paris, London- and punctuated by the number of spaces up or down on the table. He has a different rubric now, one measured by diapers and toilet training, by baby teeth and an increasing vocabulary.

“Yeah, it’s annoying the way kids just keep getting older,” Feli drawls. “So _inconvenient_.” Fernando throws a handful of sand but misses completely and Feli makes a show of pushing up his glasses. “What, you expected sympathy?”

“A little would be nice,” Fernando tries to glare, but. His daughter’s giggling as she digs her hands in the wet sand and his best friend’s face is creased in laugh lines as he chuckles with her.

******

A couple hours later Fernando's carrying Sofí back to the hotel. Holding everything else they took to the beach, one would think Feliciano would have the worse end of the deal. But Sofía's sleepy and irritable. Feliciano, the bastard, just laughs when her flailing hand hits Fernando's nose. Thankfully it only takes a few minutes to get her settled down to a nap then Feli follows Fernando to the bathroom.

“So, I broke up with Maria.” 

Fernando blinks. “Um, ok? So, I'm thinking that restaurant Ferru told us for dinner, the one-” 

“We're finished, Fernando.” Feli meets Fernando's eyes in the large mirror, face uncharacteristically solemn. “For good, this time.” 

“Yes, but...” he shrugs. His shaving gel has a ring of soap over the nozzle and he scratches at it with a thumbnail. “Feliciano, you always say that.” 

“I mean it this time. I'm just,” he waves his hand. “I'm tired of all the drama.” Feliciano has picked fights with Rafa and David in the press. He goes to clubs with eyeliner and flowers in his hair. At least once a week he drags Fernando into a dark corner of a locker room and leisurely sucks Fernando's cock until he's begging him _stop Feli, god they'll hear, Nole's right there, please stop baby_. But, despite the history, his words feel real and the exhaustion in his voice and body is genuine. 

It's easier to encourage that flare of desire than to think about Feli's confession, so he presses a kiss to Feli's shoulder. Feli responds by reaching back and resting his hands on Fernando's hips, head tilting back to rest on Fernando's shoulder. Feli's throat is long and elegant, skin slightly stubbled but all the more lovely for it. Suddenly he knows that this is him, this moment is all he is. Soft hushed silence,  defined entirely by the line of Feli's back pressed against his front, the heavy weight of the other's head on his shoulder. Meant less to arouse than to just touch, he slides his fingers across the familiar lines of Feli's hips. This is the only moment he'll ever be able to ask this. “Did you break up with her for me?” 

“Yes.” Feli's simple reply threatens to destroy the almost sacred hush. 

“Oh.” God but Fernando wants to believe him, the want a deep ache that spreads through stomach to his limbs and fingers, till he's ready to burst with the need for this to be true. It pushes against his eyes and he has to swallow against the tears. “I-what does this mean, Feliciano?”

“Um,” and when they meet in the mirror Feliciano's blue eyes are frightened. “I don't know.” It's desperate and painful and cracked and Fernando swallows again. 

“Feli,” he starts. Doesn't know what he's about to say, but he has to speak. “Feli, I-”

“I think I hear Sofía.” Feli nearly stumbles on the slick tile in his hurry to pull away. “I, um, need to get her.” And then he's gone. As soon as Sofí's asleep he'll make an excuse about eating dinner with Fransisco and then he'll suddenly need an hour of evening practice.  Now Feli's gone he knows exactly what he was going to say. But this isn't the time. Not for Feliciano. 

So he splashes water on his face and goes to coax his daughter back to sleep. 

******

Whether fortunately or not, they have to fly out the next afternoon so this moment is forgotten between the stress of packing and getting to the airport intact.

“Don’t hurt yourself or anything,” Ana snipes at him. “God forbid you actually help carry your daughter’s stuff.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Fernando snaps back. “Christ, I’ve already got the crib, her diaper bag and our racket bags. You want me to grow another hand?” They’ve learned to schedule flights with long layovers, so he’s not worried about that. Fernando’s used to packing light, that’s not the problem. However, getting a baby and two tennis players onto a plane is a hell of a lot harder than just the players, even when Feli’s in his full out diva mode. Ever since the second flight with Sofía and Ana in tow Juan and Francisco have opted to fly out early and get the rooms and practice courts settled. Fernando fervently wishes he could do the same. But the one time he suggested it Ana had glared and texted him the next five flights to Madrid. First class. He hasn’t suggested it since. “You’ve just got the stroller.”

“Ana, just shut up and take care of Sofía.” Since Feliciano’s pushing the cart with all the actual suitcases and the last of the baby gear Ana doesn’t yell at him. Not six months ago she would have thrown a fit at Feli talking to her like that. But after the first week of all three living with Sofía the niceties had disappeared.

So instead of tearing him a new one she just glares. “Why did I agree to do this again?”

“Because you get to travel the world,” Fernando says, “meeting new and exotic people.”

“And because you get your brother’s credit card,” Feliciano sourly adds.

“The credit card’s nice,” Ana admits, “but traveling the world seems to involve of a lot of airports and a screaming baby.” She flashes an insincere smile at a curious security guard and speeds up before he decides to stop them.

“You’re the one who said yes,” Fernando reminds her. “Crap!” He stops to untangle the diaper bag and Feli’s racket bag and Feliciano nearly steers the luggage cart into his ass. “Damn it, Feli!”

“Oh shut up.” Feli replies wearily. “Let’s just check in.”

Forty five complicated minutes later they’ve gotten rid of the travel crib and the luggage, but that still leaves them with two racket bags, a diaper bag, a ‘distract Sofí’ bag, a stroller and a curious little girl. “OK,” Feliciano says. “The plane starts boarding in twenty minutes.”

“I’m going to get a coffee,” Ana says. She likes to go find a newsstand or a coffee shop at times like this and Fernando and Feli have learned to let her do as she likes. And to text her ten minutes before the plane actually starts boarding.  

“OK baby,” Fernando says as he unbuckles Sofía, “Let’s stretch our legs while we can, hmm?” She nods and tries to pull herself out of the stroller and Feli has to block it for Fernando to get her out. “Give me her leash.”

It’s not really a leash of course. It’s a little backpack with a 10 foot adjustable strap. Fernando had laughed when Rafa had given it to him but Rafa had insisted: apparently Roger recommended it. It’s quickly become one of his and Ana’s favorite things. “Here, nena.” He hands her the airport spoon; for some reason Sofía likes wandering around airports with a plastic oversized spoon. None of them know why and to be frank, none of them care. If it makes her happy to bang her spoon on the airport standard chairs as she toddles around Fernando’s more than happy to let her.

Only once he’s convinced she’s well and truly distracted (and he has a good grip on her leash) does Fernando relax. “Feliciano,” he groans as he collapses back against the chair, “I hate flying. So much.”

Feliciano chuckles. “Imagine how bad it would be without me and Ana,” he points out as he absently fiddles with his knee brace.

Fernando kicks his ankle. “Leave it alone.”

“Ooh, who’s a good daddy?” Feliciano coos with a smirk, but he drops his hand anyway.

“How’s it doing?”

Feliciano shrugs. “Fine.”

Fernando knows he’s not supposed to be watching so closely but he knows Feli’s been favoring his knee for the past two weeks. “Feliciano.” Thirty minutes before they get on an international flight is not a good time to have this conversation, but at least Feli can’t ‘sorry, I forgot I need to talk to Francisco’ again. “What’s going on? I thought your last trip helped.”

“It did,” Feliciano says, but it’s far less assured than his previous statement. “It did. Just, not for very long.”

“Well,” Fernando says, suddenly scared at the way Feli’s slumped in the ugly airport chair. “There are other surgeons, right?”

“I guess.” It’s not like Fernando hasn’t heard Feliciano this defeated before; after a decade long friendship they’ve seen each other in every possible high and low. But, this defeated over an injury right now…

“It’s going to be OK,” he repeats uselessly. “It’ll get better.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Feliciano’s looking out the window at the luggage being loaded in the belly of a jet. The usual scurry of men with flags and carts with snaking lines of baggage are so familiar that Fernando doesn’t even see them anymore, but Feli’s apparently fascinated. “I mean, I’m slipping Fernando. I’m at 41 right now. That’s lowest I’ve been in fucking _years_.” Feli’s normally the better one at remembering not to curse around Sofía, and the dull worry Fernando’s carrying sharpens. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s better to bow out now, before I slip any lower, you know?”

People comment on the closeness of the Spanish players and theorize, try to figure out how it's possible. They must just all like each other, right? So much in common, same academies, same surfaces, etc. And yes, the Armada play video games during tournaments, go shopping after a successful match, get drunk together after winning the Davis Cup (3 times). But there’s only one person Fernando invited to live with his family. Fernando met David, Marat, Juanqui, Rafa and Feliciano at more or less the same time. Feliciano's the one exception he's never had to force.

“Well, remember 2010?” he asks. “You came up from high thirties to 19 in the world, Feli. You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, I did. Two years ago. And had four surgeries in the off season.” Feli looks for Sofía and tweaks her leash. “Come here, nena. Leave the trash alone.” Sofía gives them a puzzled look; surely she’s supposed to throw trash away? Feliciano continues to give her the Look so she sighs and comes back to bury her face in his lap with a frustrated grunt. “I know, baby,” Feliciano says. “So mean of me, making sure you don’t get SARS or something from some nasty tissue.”

“I think SARS was like, 5 years ago,” Fernando replies.

“Hmm. Swine flu?”

“Three years ago.”

“Well,” Feliciano says firmly, “There’s definitely some terribly infectious disease that you could get by touching dirty Kleenex, so don’t.” But by this time Sofía’s lost interest in both of them and is busy dragging her spoon on the airport floor.

“You really think it’s time?” Fernando finds himself asking. It would be easier to just let Sofía segue them into a more innocuous topic, but they do that too often. Feli’s face is tired, lined with more than the hassle of travel and tournaments. Fernando sees him every day, sleeps with him nearly every night. How could he have missed this? “To retire?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been talking to Marat about it. Natasha’s pregnant, did you know?”

Fernando represses the instinctive flare of jealousy Feli’s easy mention of the Russian. He doesn’t begrudge Feli the friendship, but he hates that during their two or three serious fights Feli has always gone to Marat for comfort. And if it had been just sex Fernando would feel better, but it’s not. Marat’s always been a kind of safe harbor for Feliciano in a way that he and Maria have never been. “No, tell him congratulations.”

Feliciano nods, as always not noticing the grudging tone. Fernando doesn’t know if Feli doesn’t realize how he feels about Marat or if he deliberately ignores it, but he’s never felt like asking. “Yeah, he’s doing pretty well. Retirement suits him, I think.” He laughs, eyes bright at some recollection. “He talks about coaching back at the Academy, though. I think he misses tennis, but,” he shrugs, “that’s always going to happen, isn’t it. For us, I mean.”

It’s the secret always lurking behind the trophies, the victories, the travel and the accolades. They spend their whole life working for something that will effectively be over by the time they’re at most 35. Sure, you can keep playing, but once you reached the top 100, 50, 20, 10, or 5, it’s never the same. They don’t talk about it but every competitor Fernando’s faced since he was sixteen has the same plan: fight for as long as you can, then bow out graciously.

That’s the plan, but it doesn’t always work. That’s the other part about becoming one of the best in the world: there’s nothing left afterward.

Or at least, that’s how Fernando used to feel. Now, he’s not sure; he’s not sure of a lot of things these days. And as the flight attendant makes the first announcement he finds himself praying that Feli might be feeling the same uncertainties.

******

Fernando’s getting better about hearing Sofía’s night time distress in that Feliciano no longer needs to shove him awake when she cries. Which is just as well as Feli’s not in the bed when Sofí starts to whimper. “Hey baby, it’s ok,” Fernando calms her as he rubs her back. Thankfully it’s not a serious wail and she wraps her pink blanket around her head and goes back to sleep. Fernando’s about to do the same when he hears a voice in the next room. 

“Maria, we’ve talked about this,” Feli’s frustrated and struggling to keep his voice down. He’s clenching his phone so hard Fernando’s surprised it hasn’t broken. “It’s over.” He waits while Maria answers, then repeats, “Maria, it’s over. As in, we are not together anymore. Ever.” Another pause. He goes completely rigid with fury and his voice is vicious. “Don’t you dare blame Sofí for this. Blame me, blame Nando, blame yourself. Not my-that little girl.” 

It’s a private conversation, and he’ll feel very bad about it later, but Fernando can’t bring himself to shut the door. “Look, we both know it’s not working. It hasn’t worked for ages, and if it wasn’t for that twisted little competition you and Fernando have it wouldn’t have lasted as long as it has.” Another pause. “I know you think I’m stupid but I’m actually not, Maria.” 

“Look, it’s not my fault you’re too old to have a baby,” Fernando flinches. God, this is going to be that conversation. He knows he should leave, but. He’s tired of pretending that he has any limits when it comes to Feliciano. “And don’t lie, I know you weren’t on birth control the last couple times, ‘Ria. Why the fuck do you think I wore a condom?” the words are loud and he darts a guilty glance at the door that Fernando manages to duck. “Maria, it’s not that I don’t want to have children.” It’s obvious the next words hurt to say, but he pushes them out anyway. “I don’t want to have children with _you_.” Maria must respond but Feliciano overrides her, voice getting louder. “Because you’re controlling and temperamental and a complete bitch, that’s why,” he snarls. “And, let’s be honest honey, you’re too old to be having children anyway.” 

Fernando remembers the way she watched Feli with Sofí and he goes cold. Sure, Feli and Maria have their problems, but the words are so cruel he can’t believe Feli said them to a woman he used to love. He loves Feli too much to listen to this.

He finds his ipod and crawls into bed, head under the blankets so he doesn’t have to listen to him hurting someone like this. And as he drifts into an uneasy sleep that part of him that he does his best to keep locked away whispers, _he did that for me_.

******

“You are really, really lucky I love you nena,” Fernando hears Feli saying when he wakes up. “Also that I love your daddy enough to not wake him up to deal with you.” A familiar babble of indignant sounds and half formed words. “How do you not want to wear this dress? I spent hours picking it out for you. I looked for the right colors, the right size, I flirted with the saleslady…” fill the room and Fernando can't help his drowsy chuckle. Sofía hates being dressed with a passion; not at all like her father or, from what Fernando can remember, her mother. An indignant huff from Feli and suddenly his arms are full of a freshly dressed happy girl. “Perfect timing as usual, Daddy.” Feli's exasperated but still smiling, so Fernando counts it as a win. 

“Can you say thank you to your uncle Feli?” he asks his daughter. “For getting you dressed?” She ignores him, instead trying to crawl off the end of the bed. Even half asleep Fernando still manages to catch her. “I guess that's a no.” He helps her slide to the floor and, still fogged from sleep, doesn't even try to stop her when staggers over to the laundry basket, without a doubt intent on emptying it all over the floor. 

He stretches his arms above his head till his neck cracks. “Hmm. What time is it?” 

“Only 10,” Feliciano tells him. “Go back to sleep. I need to make a conference call with Alvaro and Teresa in about half an hour, so I'll watch her.” 

Fernando’s about to agree until he catches site of Feli’s scratched knuckles, and last night come flooding back. “She must have really pissed you off,” he says as calmly as possible. When Feli looks puzzled he nods at his hand. “Is there a hole in the wall we’re going to need to pay for?”

“Oh.” It’s an awkward silence but for once Fernando doesn’t help him out of it. Just waits until Feli reluctantly admits, “No. I hit the door, no damage.” 

“Fidgiano,” Fernando says, exasperated. “What were you thinking? How are you supposed to play tennis with a broken hand?” He yanks on a pair of track pants and grabs the ice bowl. “Be right back,” he says, petting Sofía’s head as he walks out the door. When he gets back he makes an icepack and shoves it at Feliciano, ignoring the other man’s sulky “not broken”. He _knows_ the hand isn’t that bad, but he also remembers how fucking mad he was last night. “So. Why’d you hit the door?” 

The other man shrugs and slouches against the wall, negligently holding the icepack to his hand. “You know. Just worried about my knee.”

Fernando could push the issue. Repeat Feli's hurtful words, yell at him for hurting Maria like that. But Feliciano said those things for him, for him and Sofi, and now's not the time to discuss it.

But they'll have to soon. And for once in his life, Fernando's not scared of that conversation.

“You’re going home.” Feliciano has a lot to pack: his clothes mixed with Fernando’s, his shoes are under the couch, and the drawings Sofía’s made for him are on the table. For every item Feli puts in his suitcase he has to toss one out. Sofía’s barrettes and headbands in particular seem to have a knack for hiding.

“Yeah.”

“What does Francisco think?”

“We talked about it. I need to go home and really rehab my knee, you know?”

The question hovers between them, but two hours after retiring from a match is not a time to ask it. “We’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you guys too,” Feliciano says, pausing to meet his eyes. “Fernando, if there was any other way-”

“No, you need to go,” Fernando interrupts. “You need to take care of yourself right now.” He’s about to say more when Ana and Sofía come bursting into the room. “And how was your day, baby?”

“Slide!” Sofía tells him with glee. Her dress is slightly dirty, but Fernando’s learned to live with that (despite what his mother says about children staying clean). The sunglasses Feli bought for her are dangling on a string around her neck; after three days they’ve proved more durable than most of Fernando’s.

“Ouch!” Feli says as he picks her up. “Did your auntie Ana take care of you?”

“Yes,” she points to a pink and purple bandaid on her elbow. “See?”

“Don’t pick at it, Sofí,” Ana tells her as she drops the diaper bag next to the door. “Oh my God, it was so hot out there.” She catches sight of Feli’s bags. “What’s going on?”

“Feli had to retire against Baghdatis,” Fernando tells her quietly as Feliciano twists Sofía around to kiss her bandaid. “He’s pulling out of the next two tournaments.”

“Oh.” She and Fernando have discussed this before, mainly in terms of how it will affect Sofí, so she’s not shocked. “What do the doctors say?”

“The usual.” Feli and Sofí are on the couch, Sofía crawling over him and grabbing at his elbow. “Less stress, rest it for at least a week.”

“So, he’s going back to Madrid then?”

“Yeah. It sucks, but he’s got to try, you know?”

“I know.” There’s a shriek from Sofí and they both turn, but Feli’s already soothing her. “Sofí’s gonna be upset.” She darts him a glance from the corner of her eye. “And other people.”

He sighs. “Yeah. But, that’s just the way it is, you know?” Sofí seems to have calmed down so he asks, “I bet you’re hungry after the park, baby. Do you want a snack?”

They leave it at that.

******

”Fernando,” Ana says one evening after Sofía's gone to bed. It’s been a week since Feliciano left, and both of them are feeling the strain. “Look.” She shrugs her shoulders, awkward in a way she hasn't been since she was 14. “You know I love you and Sofía. But, it's already August. University starts in like a month. And I hate to bring this up so soon after Feli left, Fer, But...”

“Yeah.” Ana wants to go back to university. It's something he's never understood, but their mother has a degree in culinary arts, their sister a master's in business and marketing. If he didn't have tennis Fernando knows his parents would have expected him to have at least one degree as well. “I know you do, Ana.” He sinks back into the sofa and makes his body relax, one muscle at a time. “I mean, we talked about it in the beginning but not really since, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ana agrees. She tucks her feet up underneath herself, looking miserable and oh so young.

Fernando's spent more time with his little sister over the past six months than he has over the past ten years. The first time Ana had to kick a guy out in the morning she crept into his room for advice, and he waited in the bathroom to make sure the guy left. She drools when she falls asleep on his shoulder and she has truly horrible hair in the mornings. The first time a strange girl had stumbled out of his room Ana had yelled at him for hours on why he couldn't do that anymore. The second he's done with practice and working out she shoves Sofía at him even if she has to walk into the player's club to do so.

“I'm going to miss you, you know. I couldn't have done this without you.” He's told her so before. This is the first time he's said it not to make her feel good or to thank her or to somehow make up for the sacrifices she'd made. It's just the truth.

Ana smiles a little. “I know.”

He has to laugh at that. “Fine, mock my heartfelt declaration!”

“Did you really expect anything else?” Ana has their father’s eyes and their mother’s mouth. She’s bitchier than Fernando or Sara, but she has Fernando’s sense of humor. She’s had a crush on Rafa since she was 12 but now she goes for skinny blonde men. She likes vivid pinks and yellows and against all reason they go well with her olive skin. They haven’t discussed it for months but, even though he’s not clear what it is, he’s pretty certain she’s planning to study international marketing and development.

Only now does he realize how much he defined her in terms of his: his little sister, his responsibility, his family. It’s taken this for him to realize that she is Ana, a distinct person in her own right, and it makes him feel shaken and selfish and small. Ana Verdasco Carmona will be leaving them in less than a month; it hurts more than he thought it would. “What am I going to do without you?”

She smiles, the expression uncertain. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess I coul-“

“No.” he says firmly. He doesn’t even need to think of his family’s reaction to know how to answer that. “You’re going to university.” But she still looks unsure and guilty and fuck, she’s still his little sister. He pulls her under his arm and holds on tight. “I’ll figure something out. I promise.”

******

Fernando, Sofía and Ana fly back to Madrid. Ana’s university is starting in a week and she really should have been back earlier to start preparing. Fernando needs to get his ankle looked at and his parents have been clamouring to spend time with their newest grandchild.

Of course, Feliciano meets them at the airport, all smiles and kisses for everyone. But it’s not enough to distract Fernando from the familiar knee brace and the new soft lines of his body. Feli commandeers Sofía; they’re both so delighted to see each other that neither Ana nor Fernando has the heart to make Feli help with the luggage.

Later when Sofía is comfortably napping on her grandmother’s lap Fernando manages to corner Feliciano in his old bedroom that his parents have been threatening to convert into an office since he moved out for the first time. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Feli replies. “I’m retiring, Nando.”

Fernando doesn’t know how to approach this. “I figured that when you didn’t register for Beijing.” Feli’s been remarkably silent for the last two weeks, only replying to his texts with tense ‘fine’s or ‘good’s. Fernando’d gotten so desperate for news he’d even texted Francisco for an update. Other than reassuring him that Feli’s leg was doing fine Feli’s coach had been aggravatingly mute, just saying that Fernando needed to talk to Feli himself.

“Yeah,” Feli replies uncomfortably. “About that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t really know until this weekend.” Fernando understands why he didn’t want to tell him (because that would make it real) but is still pissed off (because he’s important enough that he should have been told). There’s not really much Fernando feels like saying, so they sit in a slightly awkward silence, Fernando on his bed and Feli with his hip resting on his old desk.

“Remember when I used to spend the night in here?” Feliciano asks. It’s a tentative offering but Fernando’s just glad he’s not the one to speak first.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Before Mama just gave you the room downstairs.”

Feliciano laughs fondly and hitches up to sit all the way on the desk, feet an inch or so off the ground.

”Yeah. Man, I fucked my first guy in that room."

“Feli!” Fernando groans. He’s about the use the clichéd TMI excuse, but. The thought of Feliciano fucking someone else is painful. And in that clench of jealousy he says. “Should have been me.”

Feliciano inhales sharply. Both of them, Fernando realizes with a sudden stark clarity, both have been dancing around this for months, no, years. They lived in the same house for 3 years. He’s told countless interviewers how much he cares for his best friend. Feli’s the first one he turns to when he celebrates, the first one he calls when he loses.

“We’ve been fucking since I was 17,” he says abruptly, the words heavy in the room. “You’re the guy I ever slept with.” And, aside from a brief experimental period when he was 20 (that doesn’t count because he was young and stupid and none of them touched him like they knew him) Feliciano’s the only man he’s been with. He nearly trips trying to get his words out. “Fuck Feliciano, you’re the only one who make my daughter eat vegetables; I’m pretty certain she’s got scurvy since you left.”

At that Feli smiles but the expression quickly slides into stunned recognition. “Oh,” he says. He looks shocked and vulnerable, blue eyes painfully hopen with barely restrained emotion. “Fer. No,” he shakes his head, “Fernando. Are you talking about what I think you are?”

He could prevaricate some more, make sure Feliciano was on the same page, give them both breathing room. It would be the sensible thing to do. “I’m in love with you. I want to be with you.” Felic’s so beautiful and he wants to remember this moment forever, the way Feli’s struggling not to smile because he’s afraid this’ll be taken away, and the way his own voice shakes. A second thought pops into his head. “I mean, I know I have Sofí now and that makes things different but-”

“Fernando,” Feliciano interrupts, trying to sound exasperated and failing. “Do you really think that makes a difference?"

No, he doesn’t it. Anyone else he would have weighed up the pros and cons before even mentioning it. But he never even thought that Sofía would be a stumbling block for Feli. To be honest, Sofía’s more of a bargaining chip in his favor than anything else. “No.”

Feliciano doesn’t seem to move but somehow he’s standing between Fernando’s legs with his knees touching the edge of the bed. “So, with me. No one else?”

Fernando slides his hands into his shirt to rest lightly on his hips. “No one else. Not Camilla, not Maria, not Teresa, no one else but me and you.” 

“That’s dangerously close to a propos-’’ Feli starts to say, but shuts up even without Fernando’s glare. “I’m sorry. This is…Fernando, you know I love you too, right?” He puts his hands the sides of Fernando’s face and tilts him up, warm breath gusting across Fernando’s skin. “Just us. No one else.”

Fernando doesn’t know who moved first but they’re tumbling on the bed, Feliciano warm and strong above him. He relaxes just enough for Feli to let his guard down and pushes them over so he’s straddling Feli’s hips. He lets Feli brace him as he leans down in a kiss that starts off ferocious and domineering, both fighting for control, which Feli quickly wins. But even as Fernando cedes control he gentles the kiss, turning it into soft and tender. After so many years Feli’s his and only his. His body surges at the thought and he tangles his hand in Feli’s hair, trying to communicate that hunger. But Feliciano stops him, keeps their kiss gentle.

After a long moment they have to pull away for breath and Fernando rolls to the side, Feli immediately draping a possessive leg over his thigh. Arousal hums through them both, just enough to makes things sharp but not enough that they have to move right now.

“So,” Feliciano says as Fernando strokes the leg trapping him to the bed. “Does no one else cover threesomes? Because I think Ferru might be down for that.”

“Feliciano,” Fernando groans and smacks his shoulder. But…”I’ll think about it.”

******

 _BAG CHECK_

 _I’m Fernando Verdasco and this is my bag check. [Verdasco pulls out several rackets] These are Tecnifibre’s newest TFlight line, strung very tight. Good for my serve, no? Um, bands for stretching, protein packs, extra pair of, [sniffs shoes] clean shoes! Spare towel, new balls. [he pulls out a pink sippy cup] Oh, Sofía must have dropped this. [smiles at the camera] She gets stuff everywhere, no? [pulls his wallet from the bottom of the bag] See? [flips open to display a picture] This is my daughter, myself, my sister Ana, and Feliciano Lopez. [he smiles] My family. [Verdasco smiles at the camera] So that is all, I think. Thank you!_

 

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY. This fic has taken 3 months of classes, finals, starting an internship, and two vacations to finish. Despite all that, it's been a blast. I also did faaaar too much research on this fic. This story is set about a year or two in the future. I did my absolute best with timelines and tournament schedules and rankings and such, but let me know if there are any egregious errors. I also worked on a realistic approach toward how a toddler deals with grief, but again feel free to nitpick, I won't bite! I owe a huge, huge, HUGE debt to liroa15 for betaing TWICE and educating me on Spanish names and customs; pandatini was there the whole time cheering me on, even though she doesn't like Fernando; as always, thanks to rainydaypsycho, who when I told her I was writing kidfic, only at me for ten minutes. Thank you so much ladies!


End file.
